


The Highest Bidder

by MzMarbles



Category: Suspects (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Detectives, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MzMarbles/pseuds/MzMarbles
Summary: Jack gets a little too close to the case he's working on. And then he becomes part of it. Drama, intrigue, foul language.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've never written a crime drama before, but I've watched LOADS of them. I haven't written for this fandom before either, and I'm assuming it's super tiny. I'm going to fake it until I make it. No idea how long this will go on, but like most things I write, it will be just as long as it needs to be. I'll know when I get there. Come along for the ride. A proper synopsis will happen once I know how this ends.

It would all make more sense if he could just get some fucking sleep. Just shut off his brain for more than five minutes and it would all slot into place. He and Charlie had trawled through all the CCTV footage they could get their hands on and then for several more hours on his own after she cried uncle and went home to sleep. Jack couldn’t begrudge her that and it was Martha’s suggestion after all. It had been a long day that started before the sun came up and it had gone back down long ago. It was the smartest thing either of them could do.

Exhaustion paved the way to false leads and wild assumptions. Some of which were close enough to being right that he could get away with following it until he found the evidence he needed, but not always. Not this time. A 17 year-old girl, Rosemary Parks, was last seen walking alone along the canal near Corbridge Cres. He was sure of that, CCTV from across the canal captured her until she was out of range. And then she was just gone. Disappeared. There are certainly gaps in the CCTV system sure, but not one big enough to swallow up a human being like this. She didn’t reappear in any of the other recordings within a three block radius. He had walked the area himself, they’d swept the area. Knocked on doors and spoke with anyone who bothered to answer. Nothing.

There was no shortage of places a person could be nicked in the area, but there was no sign of struggle. If she’d been tossed into the back of a car, there was no sign of it. Not quite ready to admit defeat, he opted to just close his eyes for a bit. No harm in that.

He paused the footage for a moment and leaned back in his chair. If he didn’t snore, no one would know he was asleep or that he was even there tucked in the corner just beyond his own desk. Day shift had all gone home long ago, and it was otherwise a quiet night. His head had just started to list to one side against the shelf behind him when he heard the slightest sigh and a muttered curse. Jack lifted one lid to peek. He didn’t need visual confirmation. He was so sure she’d gone home.

“Jack, what you are you still doing here?” Martha asked. Her hair blonde hair never changed, but her clothes had. He idly wondered at the time. “I sent you and Charlie home hours ago. Myself included.”

“And yet here we are,” he said and rubbed his eyes and scratched through his stubble. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing.”

“It’s morning, Jack. I was home just long enough for Daisy to remember who I am before I sent her to bed and here I am again. What’s your excuse?”

There were windows near by, but Jack hadn’t looked anywhere but the large screen in front of him all night. He looked now and there was just a hint of light in the sky. Had he dozed off properly? Or had he really been at it all night? He casually looked at his watch 6:45 am.

“Oh yeah, how is Daisy?” He said and resumed his focus on the screen.

“As good as a moody teenager can be. And that doesn’t answer my question, Jack,” she said and took the remote. “You’re no good to me or the investigation half asleep. Go home. We’ll talk about this later.”

He opened his mouth to protest, he was so close he just knew it. He just needed five more minutes, but he was quickly silenced.

“I mean it Jack. I am the D.I. around here, I actually get to tell you what to do. Get your things and go home. Get a few hours of sleep and come back. I swear it’s like having two teenagers.”

He sighed, playing the part. “Fine.” Martha stood by and watched, made sure he had his jacket and his keys and followed him down the corridor to the main stairwell. “Are you going to follow me home, Boss? Because my flat’s a mess.”

She stood at the top of the stairs and crossed her arms. Now was not the time for harmless charm, she was annoyed. “Go,” she said and watched until he was out of sight.

“‘Night Boss,” he called up the stairs as he went.

Jack could feel the fatigue in his thighs while trudging down flight after flight of stairs. Martha hand’t been wrong. He did need a shave and a shower and to sleep and the sooner the better. The standard issue tea, and the stronger stash he kept hidden in his desk had stopped keeping him awake hours ago.

At the back door, the special blend London morning air; garbage, car exhaust and cold assaulted his senses the moment he stepped outside. In the distance a city truck was preparing to turn by beeping and shouting at pedestrians that weren’t about yet to stand clear.

He sat in his car for a moment or two and contemplated just napping right there. No doubt Martha would be waiting, watching to see him drive off, so he started the engine.

The neighbourhood he’d been combing through via CCTV wasn’t far off and it was on his way home. More or less. Rosemary had last been seen leaving the community works office on foot, 48 hours ago. She had no vehicle. She had a temporary shared flat, a bit of a shambles but out of the cold. It was a flat mate, Joshua that made the report. He wasn’t entirely clean, but his alibi stood up. So where had she gone? He sat at the light for a moment longer than he needed and then turned on to a side street to park the car and have one last walk about. Maybe he’d see something he missed. Maybe.

Birds were starting to sing just above the din of a city waking up and the cool air had perked him up a bit. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. The foot path east of the tracks was an unlikely route considering where the victim was living, but it couldn’t be ruled out. CCTV along the canal was imperfect if not all together useless. He walked east along it anyway, looking for private security cameras that might be useful, but found none.

Back the way he came he crossed Cambridge Heath back to where Rosemary was last spotted. Under the rail bridge the trash hadn’t been picked up yet, he breathed through his mouth to lessen the impact of the stench. Nothing had been left behind by the victim in a struggle. There was no evidence of violence. Aside from a puddle of sick near the alley from someone who’d had too much. And it was only Wednesday. The concept of a work day seemed irrelevant to many a hearty drinker.

A commuter train rumbled over head, fuck it really was early. He took a walk back under the bridge just out of the range of the camera and down the alley. He made a mental note to check if they’d managed to get footage from any of businesses in the area. Only one other camera pointed into the taxi lot and the view would be obstructed by a brick wall. It was worth trying to get the footage.

Back on Corbridge he tried to back track, retrace any other path she might have taken, around the corner past a derelict house he spotted what looked like a broken security camera. There was no light and the black dome was scratched. He wondered who it belonged to and if they were still using it. He wrote down the location to look into later, after a bit of shut eye.

The spell of fresh London air had worn off. It was time to take his boss’s advice. Get some sleep, start fresh. He passed under the rail bridge once more though the back alley, the smell of trash assaulting his senses once more.

“Spare any brass, mate?” A man called behind him. Jack turned and found the source, a pile of mostly blankets covered with a tarp near the row of dumpsters. A used coffee cup set out beside him. Jack hadn’t noticed him before. It was an unkind thought, but the man had sort of blended in with the trash. He had just over a quid of loose coin and took pity. The coins landed softly and he could just make out the corners of a couple of twenty pound notes. This was either a lucrative alley in which to beg or something was wrong. He glanced up at the stranger, but only caught the briefest of glances.

A hand and a rag clamped around his mouth from behind and muffled a curse, a strong arm wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms. He kicked instinctively, trying find a shin to dig his heel into, but the rag was doused in something powerful and it made him long for the smell of a week’s worth of rubbish instead. What little adrenaline he might have had was fighting a loosing battle.

He thought he heard the beggar apologize, and thought it absurd. He started to drift, his limbs having slowly gone limp and useless. He was barely even pawing at the arm holding him up, his legs turned to jelly. A manic smiling face in spray paint was the last thing he remembered seeing.

 

Martha had been right. A solid night of sleep was exactly what DC Charlotte Steele needed to refocus. And a few hours out of the office and a pint at home was exactly what Charlie needed to turn it all off for a moment. Start fresh. Abduction cases were rarely as easy as just playing Where’s Waldo with a city’s worth of CCTV. The picture they had pieced together from those that had last seen Rosemary’s showed a life that had been one bad turn after another. Absentee parents, bounced around the foster care system for years, no permanent address. The flat she had been living in was a step or two above being a squat. And now this, gone without a trace. Like she’d been erased from the city.

She’d been missing for just long enough that it was seeming more likely that they would find a body and not the girl. Jack always says it’s not a murder investigation until they find a body. It’s a twisted kind of optimism, but she’d take it. His car wasn’t in the lot when she pulled in, and he wasn’t at his desk either. It wasn’t like him to be late coming in, but he was the last to leave last night. She knocked on Martha’s door.

“Morning Charlie.”

“Boss. Is Jack not in yet?”

Martha sighed and shook her head. “Would you believe he was still here when I came in this morning?”

“What?” Now that was more like it. It wasn’t like Jack to be late, but it was like him to try to be the hero and solve the thing by himself.

“Half asleep in the corner watching CCTV footage, nodding off like a bloody toddler that doesn’t know when to go to bed. He’ll burn himself out if he keeps on like that.”

“Jesus. So I’m on my own then?”

“I sent him home to get a bit of shut eye, he’ll be back. Think of all you’ll accomplish before he even wakes up. There is going to be a media appeal later today, hopefully that should drum up some leads.”

“Right.” Charlie returned to her desk and sighed. Jack was a good detective, and a good partner when he followed the rules. When he didn’t? God, he was such a cock. She felt like cracking this thing by herself just to spite him.

 

Two things became immediately apparent to Jack Weston the moment he woke. One, he was cold, and two, his head was throbbing. Hadn’t throbbed like this since the day after his celebratory session after he passed his sergeant’s exam. Then thirdly, it was dark, completely dark which in a way he was thankful for, and fourth he couldn’t move.

Then memory started to trickle in. He had been on his way home, he made one last stop to look around where the Parks girl was last seen. And now he was here, wherever ‘here’ was. The rest was blurry. He could feel that his jacket was gone and so were his shoes. What were probably his own handcuffs were secured around his wrists behind him. No idea what was around his ankles. Zip ties maybe? And he was not looking forward to losing the tape across his mouth.

Every thing was muffled, in part due to the headache and a haze and also because of what ever was pulled over his head. He could hear an engine, but it didn’t sound like a car, he was laying on a hard surface so he wasn’t in a trunk, but he was on the move. A van? A boat?

He stayed as still as possible. He didn’t know who might be watching and he didn’t want them to know he was awake. Not yet. This was not a standard ‘your money or your life’ sort of mugging. He certainly cursed his current predicament, but at least he knew that he had been onto something. He’d bet money that these were the same assholes that had taken Rosemary Parks. If he could remain calm, maybe he could get to her. Save them both. He’d just have to free himself, defeat the bad guys with his bare hands and find a way out. Right. Simple. He didn’t have the key for the cuffs or his phone or any idea where he was headed, but he’d still try.

A door opened and clicked shut, they were still on the move. So he wasn’t in a van. A canal boat? Then he hadn’t gone far.

“Has he moved?” One voice asked, rough and northern.

“Nah,” was the reply. So he was being watched. There was an awkward silence, tinkering. Jack sighed. He’d pat himself on the back later for his good instincts.

“Why do they always fake it? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. And this tosser should really know better,” the first one said and came closer. Jack could smell the mud on his boots. “Hold him.”

Or not.

A hand took a firm grip on the sack and a handful of his hair and pulled back. Another hand gripped his shoulder. Jack grunted and shifted away without success. He caught a bit of light from under the sack and a glint of something sharp just before it stabbed into his neck.

Fuck.

 

Alex Vaughn took another look at the name badge they snapped from the copper’s neck. Detective Sargent Jack Weston. So that’s who that fucker was. He’d seen him before with his teammates sniffing around the area more than once. It was a dodgy part of town, no one would deny that and gentrification wouldn’t fix it. They hadn’t been snooping into his business and near as he could tell he’d caught the assholes making trouble. But now they were getting a little too close. He knew the moment he saw him sniffing around the camera out back that this was a face that a few of his contacts would like to rough up a bit at the minimum.

He held up the name badge and photo next to Willy’s greasy mug. Close enough. “Take his keys and his jacket. Sloan will find you the address. Take his car home and then find your way back and be careful about it.”

An address would be easy enough to find, and if it looked as though the detective had disappeared from his home, it would take the focus away from them. Not that they would ever find Detective Weston on his property (or at all if this went smoothly), this was the legitimate half of his business and he wouldn’t jeopardize it by keeping any of the merchandise on site. The detective was already well on his way to a far better location for what he had planned, he was on his way to the other half of Alex’s business south of the river.

Alex had nothing personal against this Weston character, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t already thinking of a way to get rid of him without also making a profit. The nature of Alex’s business meant that he had connections to a number of sordid deviants. Some with enough money and hatred for this copper who might be convinced to part with said cash for an opportunity to get even. So he spread the word.

It wasn’t personal, it was a business transaction. Like everyone else he’d dealt with and sold. Business. Plain and simple.

 

Charlie flipped through the notes Jack had left on his desk. Deciphering his handwriting let alone his thought process should be considered proficiency in another language. The last thing he’d written was CABS??? She took the extraneous, sloppy question marks to mean that he’d written this long after the caffeine had worn off.

But there was a cab company and a coach business in the area. They’d spoken with the manager of the coach company, but not the cab company. She’d been brushed off by a dispatcher with a promise to have the manager call if they saw anything. Both businesses were secluded enough that a person might be tossed into one of the vehicles and driven off, but there was no evidence. Short of corralling every cab and coach bus in the area for a full forensic search. It would be a logistical nightmare that no one had time for.

Was that what he was searching for through CCTV all night? A taxi that looked a little heavy in the boot? Cabs were in and out of that place all day. It would take forever to find.

She was at an impasse, waiting on too many people to return her call. She had follow-up questions for Dan Gordon, the working centre co-ordinator. He was proving hard to reach. She’d pick up where Jack left off. It was coming up on noon, hopefully he’d be back soon, or at least before Martha made her appeal.

“Charlie, have you heard from Jack yet?” Martha asked. “I rang him and got no answer. Straight to voice mail.”

“I haven’t,” Charlie said and pulled out her cell. “Must be really tired, trying to solve everything on his own. Hard work being the hero.”

Charlie thought she had at the very least muttered that last sentence or two, thought them very loudly at most. Martha almost chided her for the remark, but there was truth in it. “I’m heading down to make the appeal. Let me know if you hear from him.”

 

Jack didn’t know which way was up when he woke next. The pain in his left shoulder had shifted to the right. He’d been moved, that was certain. It was still dark under the hood, but he could tell he was no longer in transit. He could feel the floor with his finger tips, cold concrete there was something old and sticky under him. He didn’t bother trying to be still this time. These were professionals and another jab to the neck was the last thing he wanted.

He could smell old machinery, rust and cold metal. Stale cigarette smoke. Abandoned factory? Warehouse? Where the fuck had they taken him? He shuffled a bit on the floor, to ease the pressure on his shoulder and to see if he could gauge the size of the room. Maybe even sit up if he could manage it. There was no commentary, so he knew he was alone. If there was a door, it was probably locked.

He had no idea how long he’d been out. An hour? The whole morning? Eventually Martha was going to wonder where he was, it was the only comforting thought he could hold on to. There was a weak light bulb somewhere, he could just make out dim light from under the hood. He needed a better look. If there was a chance there was a window, even if it was covered it wouldn’t be sound proof.

He sighed and accepted that his next move was not going to help his throbbing head any and began to nod vigorously trying to shake the hood loose. He could see out the bottom of it, it couldn’t have been secured tightly. And sure enough after several vicious shakes, and probably a mild concussion later, he had managed to free himself from it.

The light was a lot brighter than expected, it came from a hallway outside the door, having been in the dark for so long, he squinted against it. The stink of the building only grew stronger. The source of the stale cigarette smoke became evident as he opened his eyes. There was a man silhouetted in the door way, pot bellied and slick haired, slowly clapping.

“Well done, Jack. Well done. Very spirited. You’re going to make me so much money.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was starting to seem more and more unlikely that Charlie was going to hear from anyone at the cab company, which only piqued her curiosity. If they didn’t want her to wonder they would have answered her questions in the first place. So she started to dig. VA Taxi had been in business for just under a decade and did well enough from what she could find, they hadn’t taken a much of a hit from Uber. A cursory search for the owner, Alex Vaughn, didn’t bring up anything out of the ordinary, save for a slightly more posh address than she expected. She’d need a better reason than a manager simply not returning her call to have FIU look into them further.

Perhaps another visit would be useful. She wanted to bring Jack up to speed as well. He had suspected a connection with the company, but she didn’t have anything other than a word scribbled in anote pad to go on.

“Have you heard from Jack yet, Charlie?”

“No, not a word. Straight to voicemail like he’s turned his phone off,” she said. It wasn’t like him to just abandon a case like this. Unless he was deathly ill, and probably not even then.

Martha seemed to consider this too. “What are you working on? Any leads?”

There had been an initial rush of phone calls after the media appeal, not all of it was helpful. Charlie skimmed over the papers on her desk. There was nothing promising, but a few items were worth looking into. “I’ve got a call from someone claiming to be Rosemary’s Uncle, a Gerald Sampson. Might shed some light on her character and he’s as close as we have to next of kin. I’m still waiting for a call from one of the businesses in the area, a VA Taxi Limited, they gave me a brush off yesterday during the door to door. I was going to pop round for a visit once Jack came back, but waiting for him seems like a giant waste of time now.”

“Right,” Martha said. “Definitely speak with the uncle. He might be the only family Rosemary has. Pop round to the cabby's and swing by Jack’s place on your way, make sure he’s not dying would you? I don’t care if he’s still wearing his pyjamas. It’s three in the afternoon, time to come back to work, do you know what I mean? I should have just put him to bed in the tea room at this rate.”

 

The hood had been placed back over his head and this time the drawstring had been pulled so that it sat snug around his throat. Jack tried not to think about it every time he swallowed. He wasn’t the claustrophobic type, but even he had limits. Jack was unsurprised that his captor didn’t start monologuing the whole plan right then and there. He just muttered something about spoilers while tying the string too tight. He’d remained awake after his visitor left, no more jabs to the neck now that he’d reached his destination, but he now had a babysitter. Some lackey dragged a chair into the room from across the hall, painfully screeching it across the concrete. They said nothing at first and Jack was hardly willing or able to strike up a conversation.

So he just laid there on the floor listing to this fucker playing with his phone. He tried to tune it out. Trying to sort out what he’d got himself into. It wasn’t a ransom, no criminal is dumb enough to try to kidnap a police officer for ransom. And it wouldn’t have explained why they’d taken Rosemary Parks. Someone who had no money or family. They weren’t in this to make ransom money from wealthy families. They were in this to make money from an already abused and vulnerable group of people. Human trafficking then. He’d stumbled onto something much larger than a simple missing person case. It was no wonder they nabbed him. But how on earth was he going to make them any money? The sort of human garbage that bought into slavery like this wouldn’t have a need for a cop. They would know better. And Jack wouldn’t be cowed into behaving either if that were the case.

Blips and beeps started to invade his thoughts. By about the hundredth blip in whatever random game he was playing sounded Jack had had enough. He tried to roll to his other side at least, put his back to it. Easier said than done. His cuffs had been replaced with zip ties and they were snug. He lost momentum and got stuck on his belly.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going then?” The Sitter said and pushed Jack back and against the wall with his foot, pinching his right arm under him painfully. A foot rested on Jack’s chest so that he couldn’t move.“No one said you could move.”

A gasp failed to escape when the pressure on his chest increased. The more he tried to wiggle out of his predicament the more weight The Sitter used.

“Thanks for the ones and twos, mate. Fit real nice. Should’ve nicked another pair while I was about your place. You won’t be needing them anymore after this. You got lots of nice shit for a copper. Save for that picture of the ugly bitch on your mantle, that your mum? I might move in when this is done, toss that old hag in the bin first.”

Jack couldn’t properly articulate his thoughts aloud, but his grunt had the right number of syllables and the emphasis got the message across. The Sitter just laughed and drove one of Jack’s trainers right into his gut. Jack wrapped himself around the pain in as best he could for a moment. He slowly raised his arm behind him, high as it would go, and gave The Sitter two fingers. Another vicious kick. He didn’t make any more moves after that.

 

Roy lived next to trash cans, but even he got tired of the smell after a while. And he had forty quid to his name now so he didn’t have to sit next to trash all day if he didn’t want to. Today was a good day. He didn’t even have to do nothing he wouldn’t already done. Roy hadn’t had a proper meal in over a week. Forty pounds would fix him up for more than a few days. There was a cafe around the corner that he’d go to often. The owner took pity and let him eat in even if all he had was a cold cup of tea, so long as there weren’t any other customers. He kept to the corner by the window. He relished every last crumb of the beef sandwich and watched the television in the corner. The sound wasn’t on, but it was enough.

A photo of a young black girl with a mess of unruly hair filled the screen, an old selfie someone else probably took it looked like. There was a phone number at the bottom for the anonymous snitch line. Then it was just some blonde lady talking at the cameras, the coppers emblem on the wall behind her. They were still looking for that girl, Rosemary Parks the caption said. Roy had seen her about once or twice. He didn’t ask her for any thing. He could tell she was just one disagreement, one bad day away from being him, homeless. She didn’t have nothing.

Roy wasn’t stupid. Just because he slept under a rail bridge didn’t mean he couldn’t put two and two together. He had money to put food in his belly for the first time in a while and that was to keep him quiet. He couldn’t tell anyone what he saw. He knew those fuckers were into shady things and he didn't want any of them to happen to him. He kept his mouth shut until he had money to buy food to put into it. And there was no telling what’d happen if he said something.

Nah. Let the coppers do their job. They’d figure it out soon enough.

 

Mr. Sampson had checked out. Charlie sat with him in his tiny flat south of the river and they had a chat about Rosemary. He had a photo of her as a child. He hadn’t been able to take custody or look after her when her parents went awol, he would have been unfit as he was serving time when she would have needed him most. A minor drug trafficking charge. He’d been clean since his sentence ended, but he had lost track of Rosemary until now. Charlie would still do a background check back at the station, but she found him to be sincere.

Her next task was to drag Jack’s ass out of his bed and back to work. Charlie had tried his number twice more and now the voice mail was full. It was eerily out of character for him. They’d worked together for a few years now and he’d never ghosted like this. They weren’t exactly best mates, but he was more reliable than this.

She found his car parked near his flat. Jack had never been great at parking, but not as bad as this; one of the tyres was half on the sidewalk, balanced precariously. He couldn’t have been that tired. Across the road and a few doors up she found his, rang the buzzer. Rang it twice. No answer. Knocked. Then knocked harder, cursing under her breath. She stepped back over the sidewalk to look up to the windows. Curtains were drawn. Same for ground level.

On a whim she tried the knob, he was tired enough to park on a sidewalk, maybe he was careless enough to leave the door unlocked. The knob turned so she pushed the door open. Narrow stairs lead straight up to the second storey flat.

“Sarge!” She called out not wanting to startle him as she made her way up the stairs. “The front door was open. Jack?”

She looked around at the top, there was a kitchen and living room to her right, a small unused guest room to her left and yet more stairs. It was nothing like what she expected of Jack’s flat. It was sparse and modern, clean. He had kitschy art on his walls, she started to wonder if she had the right address.

“Jack?” She called out again and started to trudge up a second flight of stairs to a loft. A bathroom and an empty bedroom. Covers still thrown about as if he’d been here, but left in a hurry. Or not. Jack didn’t seem like the type to make up a bed, but that was before she’d seen where he lived.

She called Jack’s cell, maybe he’d left it behind, and sure enough she heard it buzz from the living room. It had been on the sofa. No dishes in the sink or the counter. The place looked like it had hardly been lived in aside from the messy bed. The door to the back garden wasn’t quite closed and a feeling she’d been failing to ignore for the last ten minutes started to take hold. Something wasn’t right.

She called Martha. She tucked the phone against her shoulder and instinctively reached into her pocket for a glove while the line rang.

“DI Bellamy.”

“Boss, it’s Charlie. I’m at Jack’s flat.” She said slipping the glove on. “He’s not here, but his car and his phone are.”

“Really?”

“Really. And what’s odd is that the front door was unlocked. Nothing looks out of place, but the garden door is ajar. It’s a bit eerie.”

“Maybe he’s just popped out for a bit?”

Charlie turned and saw Jack’s coat on a hook by the stairs. His keys were in a dish on a side table. She was willing to bet his wallet was still in the pocket too.

“Without his keys or coat,” she said patting down the pockets. “Or his wallet? For the last five hours we’ve been calling him?”

She looked about the room again. Half hoping that Jack would come in from the garden after having a smoke, but he’d quit. Again. He stubbornly refused to materialize in the back garden balcony.

“Maybe he quit quitting, again.” Martha said.

“I don’t want to say it, but something feels off about all this. Have you ever known Jack to just disappear like this? To ever just let go of a case? He was so keen to find Rosemary Parks by himself and now he’s just gone.”

“What are you suggesting, Charlie?”

“I think something’s wrong. It nearly pains me to say it, but I’m worried about him.”

There was a pause on the other end. Martha had known Jack longer. She knew him better, if all of this was giving Martha a moment of pause, then Charlie was sure she was right. Something was definitely wrong.

“Alright. Stick around until uniform arrives, then report back. Don’t touch anything.”

“Yes Boss.”

 

He’d managed to avoid thinking about the fact that the last thing he ate was a stale ginger snap from the stash in his desk at half three in the morning. He’d managed to not think about that fact for the last hour, but it had poked it’s way back into his mind. It didn’t help that The Sitter was a fucking mouth breather when he ate and he’d been chomping, lip smacking, and loudly chewing his way through a giant roasted turkey sandwich for the better part of the last half hour. It was the only smell cutting through the fabric of the sack over his head.

Jack had tasted nothing but the inside of his own mouth and whatever that rag was doused with for hours. Fuck he was thirsty.

A long and obvious gurgle squelched and squeaked around his abdomen. The Sitter didn’t seem to take notice, or seem to care if he had. Another loud gurgle, this one sounded like it meant business.

The Sitter laughed. “You hungry, mate?”

Jack just sighed, of course he was. The Sitter just leaned down closer with what was left of the sandwich and chewed it impossibly louder, making satisfied noises as he did so. The door opened in the midst of this and another voice laughed and started to scold The Sitter with an absolute lack of sincerity.

“Would you stop tormenting the fucker?” Another lackey said, Irish this one. “Help me sit him up.”

The two of them hauled Jack off the floor and propped him against the wall. The Sitter loosened the string of the hood but only lifted it slightly, just over the nose. Jack immediately looked down and caught a glimpse of a knife and tried to shimmy away from them. A hand took a firm grip on his chin and held him steady against the wall, while the other hand with the knife cut a small opening in the tape over his mouth.

“D’you want this or not?” Irish said. Jack caught sight of a straw and the end of it pushed into his mouth through the hole in the tape. He definitely did want it and took a long pull of what turned out to be apple juice through the straw. Jack didn’t even like apple juice, but right now it was like the fucking nectar of the gods. He slurped it up noisily until every drop was gone. It was a juice box, he made sure to draw every annoying sound and every last drop of juice out of the thing.

The hood was dropped back into place, a hand patted the side of his face. “That’s a good lad. Won’t be long now.”

Jack’s stomach sank. What the fuck did that mean?

 

There had been a few bites among Alex’s contacts, and his contact’s contacts. Word spread quickly enough and it turned out this Weston fellow had pissed off an awful lot of criminals. He’d set up a room away from windows and entrances and away from his other merchandise as well. This was bound to attract unwanted attention if it were over heard. He didn’t want to risk any of his product over hearing any of it and spilling it to their new owners.

Sloan was taking care of the technical aspects as usual, secure wire transfers and private accounts. The way her face lit up when Alex had pitched the idea made him fall in love with her all over again. She was brilliant and every bit as keen and resourceful as himself. He would take her on a nice holiday with this haul.

Alex knew he would only get away with such a money making venture once. He couldn’t make a habit of nabbing police officers and offering them up to the city’s plethora of barely reformed criminals. He intended to make the absolute most of this. There was a minimum buy in of course, but he would make it worth their while even if they didn’t win the prize.

He had three takers confirmed and a set arrival time, 8 pm sharp. He glanced at his watch, fifteen minutes to show time.

 

Back at the station Charlie started sifting through Jack’s movements. Details from his car tracker would take time. He’d been home at least, but where he went from there was a mystery. And anywhere he might have gone in between might help solve it. Her and Martha had started trying to reach him from about noon onward and it looked as though the phone had been sitting on his sofa the whole time with him no where near it. He’d last been seen leaving the station at 7 am. It was coming up to 8pm now and no one had seen or heard from him. It was unlikely that he’d just gone for a very long walk about London in January without a coat after having been awake for a little more than 24 hours.

And Martha agreed. A forensic team was going over his flat, but so far they hadn’t found any finger marks that weren’t Jack’s or her own on the front door. If anyone else had been in the flat, they must have worn gloves or they hadn’t touched anything. And CCTV footage from his neighbourhood was pending. The Rosemary Parks case couldn’t be tossed aside, but they needed to find Jack. That he disappeared while investigating a missing person seemed like too much of a coincidence, but that was the sort of wild conclusion Jack would come to without any evidence. She needed facts. That he was often right, was beside the point.

A notification on her screen showed an update from forensics, there was a partial palm print on the back garden door, and it didn’t belong to Jack. They would begin searching his car next.

“Gotcha,” she muttered. It felt good to be right, even though it meant it was more likely that something bad had happened to Jack.

 

Jack’s captors had been kind enough to let him stay propped up against the wall. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than the alternative. His shoulders still ached from the position his arms were held in, but at least he was no longer laying on the cement floor. It took the pressure off the ties around his wrists which had started to slice into him. Yes, sitting up waiting for the inevitable was far better.

The Sitter had wandered off a while ago. Jack had lost all track of time. It could have been an hour, it could have been twenty minutes. All he knew was that the man had left shortly after he was allowed to drink and hadn’t returned. Jack hadn’t heard anything beyond the door which he had heard them lock. If some terrible fate had befallen The Sitter, who knows when anyone would come back to check on him. No, that was not a thread that Jack needed to tug on right now. He was going to get out of this alive dammit and catastrophising wouldn’t help.

Compartmentalizing everything was what made Jack a good cop, it’s what made doing this job possible. He’d seen some truly horrible things and met some despicable people in this line of work and if he wasn’t able to lock it away, it would mean burn out, early retirement at the least. But after the better part of a day, unable to move, see or speak fear was starting to pick at that lock in his mind. He would get out of this. There was no way that the Boss was not actively wondering where he’d gone off to by now. They would find him.

They would find him.

A key turned in the lock of the door, it opened. Two men entered, Jack heard one of them click open a knife.

“It’s show time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit brutal. Some of you will like that. Others will cringe. It'll get worse before it gets better.

“Charlie!” Martha called from her office.

“Yeah Boss?” She said and popped her head in the open door.

“I’ve just got Jack’s car tracker details, come take a look. I want to say I’m surprised he didn’t go straight home like I told him to, but I’m not.”

Charlie came round to Martha’s side of the desk. Jack had left the station a few minutes to 7 and had travelled north, but only so far as Vyner St. not far from here. It wasn’t far from where Rosemary Parks was last seen. The car remained there for almost 45 minutes then seemed to take a long route to his flat on Madison. A bit meandering, as if maybe he’d missed a turn somewhere.

“Do you know what Jack was looking at when you came in this morning?” Charlie asked.

“He wasn’t looking at much of anything when I came in, he was half asleep in the corner.”

“I think he was looking in to the taxi service, I was going to go by again today, but it looks like he beat me to it. All he’d written in his notebook was ‘cabs’. Do you think he was on to something maybe?”

“Beyond it being another of his theories, I don’t know, but it’s worth looking into now. Do we have the CCTV from his street yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Alright. I’ll chase that up. Missing girl and now a missing police officer is a tad important.”

“Of course,” Charlie said and looked through her notes. “The partial palm print we lifted hasn’t returned any hits yet, unfortunately. There were some hairs found in Jack’s car that may or may not be his, those have been fast tracked as well. And I wanted to have FIU do a full background check on this VA Taxi Ltd. and the owner, a Mr. Alex Vaughn. With your blessing. They’ve been more than reluctant to provide any assistance. No one returns my calls. I know their connection to these cases is tenuous at best, but we now have two disappearances linked to their location, I thinkit would be helpful.”

“Agreed. Let me know if you have any more updates.”

 

Jack recognized the voice from the corridor as the man who had orchestrated this whole thing. The man who didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Whatever this elaborate scheme was, it was about to begin. His heart began to pound and for once he was thankful that no one could see his face. The one with the knife was kneeling on his legs at the shins.

“Now, my man here is going to cut the ties around your ankles. You’re not going to attempt to do anything stupid like kick him in the fork or try run are you? You’re going to behave yourself, yeah?” He said and entered the room. “Nod for me, Jack.”

He sighed and nodded. He wasn’t about to accelerate whatever awaited him and was in no mood for a beating, but he wouldn’t make it easy for them. Especially if he couldn’t see where he was going.

The tie around his ankles snapped apart, two men hauled him off the floor, an arm a piece. Jack was a little unsteady but managed to right himself. The strongmen wasted no time in marching him out of the room. He stumbled, to be honest he wasn’t trying very hard, and not being able to see or really feel one’s feet didn’t make it easy. The ties had been too tight, his feet had fallen asleep long ago.

Jack remembered reading about The Troubles in history classes back home. One of the ways in which both sides liked to torment the other was mock execution. Pretending to push hooded captives out of a helicopter or the side of a building. The idea had haunted him at the time, and it was an ongoing issue while he still lived there. This was starting to feel too much like that image he’d built up in his mind all those years ago.

They marched him down several corridors turning left and right over and over until he had no idea which direction he was heading. He just stumbled along between them. Eventually he noticed that the light seemed to change. From dim florescent to something much brighter, he could make it out through the weave in the fabric. Bright one directional light.

He was sat in a chair, the wooden legs squeaked against the floor slightly when he fell into it. One of the men that had escorted him kept a painful grip on his sore shoulder while the other snapped the ties around his wrists only to fasten each one to the back sides of the chair. Then an ankle to each leg of it. Jack wouldn’t have thought himself claustrophobic before this, but now he might. He couldn’t move or even stretch and every part of him quivered with the dire need to do exactly that.

His captor now stood next to him and laid a heavy hand on top of his head, gathering the hood and a good bit of Jack’s hair into his fist.

“Gentlemen, allow me the genuine pleasure to present to you, our ‘honoured’ guest for the evening, Detective Sargent Jack Weston.” The hood was abruptly pulled up and the full intensity of the lights seemed to bore straight into his head, he squinted against it. He couldn’t readily make out who these supposed gentlemen were. One of them laughed, it was not a pleasant sound.

What fresh hell was this, then?

“Now, I know I promised each of you a chance to have your revenge, for the right price of course. Arefresher on the rules since I can see you’re keen to get to this one and get started. Each bidding round is another opportunity to do your worst without killing him. So even if you lose, you still win. The highest bidder gets to take their prize literally anywhere else but here to dispose of him. I cannot stress that enough, this man is not to die here. Take your trash home and deal with it there. Do we have an agreement?”

There was a murmur of agreement and a dark chuckle from somewhere in the middle of the group. That was hardly reassuring. Now Jack understood what this fucker meant when he said Jack would make him lots of money. He’d angered a lot of criminals in his career so far, but enough that they’d pay money for the chance to kill him? Christ. He’d pat himself on the back later when he wasn’t about to be beaten and then killed.

“Excellent. Bidding starts at $5000 pounds. Your deposits are safe and secure. Now, I can assure you that the room is as sound proof as can be,” he said and took a corner of the tape across Jack’s mouth with his thumb and forefinger. “So, a show of hands. Who want’s to hear this asshole beg for mercy?”

 

Charlie had reviewed and re-reviewed the CCTV footage from early that morning where Jack stopped off on the way home. She caught sight of him walking along the canal and then doubling back. She watched him make his way along Corbridge Cresent and around the corner. She lost him just about the same place that Rosemary was last seen. She had sight of him before he passed under the rail bridge. He must have come across something of interest, he spent a whole 15 minutes in that tunnel before he reemerged. He appears later on crossing the road back to Vyner. She only caught the back of him as he walked back to the car, but he seemed to have trouble finding it.

What the hell was he looking for in that tunnel? The footage from Jack’s neighbourhood was even more puzzling. He parks the car poorly. Gets out and pauses as if he needed to look for his flat and then makes his way towards it. Fumbles with the key in the lock and goes inside. And then no one comes out. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something wasn’t right about it. Was it the walk? Was it the hesitation? She had trawled through the footage and no one left the flat through that door all morning or afternoon, so where the hell did he go?

She pulled her gaze from the screen and caught sight of Jack’s photo on the board along with Rosemary Parks. No one wanted to see one of their own on the board. Either as a victim or a suspect.

Her desk phone chirped and took her attention from the screen. She scrambled to answer it.

“DC Steele.”

“Jane in forensics here. We have a match for the hairs found in Weston’s car. A William Granger. You should have the full report in your inbox momentarily.”

“Yes, thank you,” Charlie said hanging up.

She had the report up already and started a basic search in the system for William Granger. Two priors, one for ABH in 2015 and again in 2016. Current employer listed as HT Holdings an import export operation. She didn’t recognize him from his processing photo, but his DNA had been found in Jack’s car and he seemed to have roughly the same build. She printed the photo to pin to the board.

“Boss,” she said.

Martha emerged from her office looking tired. “What have you got Charlie?”

“We have a match for the hairs found in Jack’s car; a William Granger. Two previous assault charges in the last three years, some how gainfully employed. So what was he doing in Jack’s car on a Wednesday morning?”

Charlie stared at the photo a moment longer. Squinted at it.

“What are you thinking Charlie?” Martha asked.

She returned to her desk and took another look at the forensics report. The hairs had been found below the headrest of the driver’s seat. It was looking less likely that Jack had been in the car through all the footage that she’d reviewed. Behaviour that seemed strange for Jack, made perfect sense if she hadn’t been watching Jack at all. She picked up the remote.

“Boss can you pull that photo for me, the side profile.” she asked. And cued up the footage from Madison St. “Thank you.” She held up the photo next to the image of Jack approaching his flat. “Do you think he looks like Jack?”

Martha squinted and took a closer look. “Hard to tell, but damn close I’d say. See what else you can find about him. If he drove Jack’s car back to the flat, then we know that Jack disappeared in the same spot as Rosemary Parks. Good eye Charlie.”

 

Once Jack’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out the faces of those before him all of them had raised their hands and the tape (and a few facial hairs) was unceremoniously removed. He recognized only two of them. They were not faces he ever expected or wanted to see again. There was something familiar about the third, but he couldn’t quite place him. That he had a cricket bat in his hands should be a clue, but Jack couldn’t place him, couldn’t think.

“This is fucking madness, you can’t do this!” Jack shouted, resulting in a quick back hand to the mouth. A gaudy school ring cut his lip.

“No one said you could have an opinion,” his captor said. “Just that you could beg or scream. So shut it. Right, gentlemen. Who would like to go first?”

The man on the far right stepped up first. His captor bowed out of the spot light, and gestured to Jack as if he were presenting a trophy. “Sorry kid, this is strictly business on my end. You understand.”

Jack knew the man approaching him now. George Davies, broad shouldered and bad tempered. He was one of the first people Jack had put behind bars when he was just a DC and got stuck with all the unglamorous stuff that he left for Charlie to do, like paperwork. Mr. Davies here had been doing well enough for himself with an extortion gig at the time, threatening small business owners. He got a little carried away with his role and put one of them in the hospital. The GBH charge didn’t stick, not enough evidence. But the extortion charge did.

“You remember me?” Davies said.

“You never forget your first,” Jack said, calling up any and all bravado he could, it wasn’t much, but it would do. He’d sat in the interrogation room with this man a couple of times. The DS he was with at the time called him Georgie, it didn’t go well. “How’ve you been Georgie, not keeping out of trouble I see.”

Davies just laughed, “I see what you’re doing, I perfected false bravery in prison. I don’t buy it for a second. Got out on good behaviour and a promise.”

“Which you broke immediately no doubt.” Jack said.

Davies circled around and stood behind him now, leaned down close to one ear took the fingers of each of Jack’s hands in a firm grip despite Jack trying to wriggle out of it and said quietly, “Speaking of breaking things… Good luck trying to prove it, your fucking technicalities and paperwork won’t help you this time.”

“No, no no.” Jack pleaded but it was pointless. Davies wrenched upward with both hands and Jack howled. The echoes of bones popping out of joint or cracking reverberated in Jack’s mind. Both his hands felt like they were on fire as the pain spread up his arms. He could do nothing to relieve it, he did his best not to look at what direction his fingers now pointed. He still caught sight ofthe index finger on his right hand when he leaned forward to try stop himself from vomiting. It was sickeningly bent at nearly ninety degrees. He swallowed a wave of nausea.

Fuck, just breathe Jack, just breathe. They’ll find you, they’ll find you, he thought. Just fucking breathe.

 

Martha had made a second appeal once it became clear there was a link between Jack’s disappearance and Rosemary Parks. So far it hadn’t generated any further leads. Charlie had the report from FIU for VA Taxi Ltd. It was thicker than she expected. Looks like they pulled out all the stops this time. There was much to sift through but Charlie found what she needed a few pages in. VA Taxi Ltd. was owned in part by HT Holdings, their Jack Weston impersonator’s employer. Charlie idly wondered if this was how Jack felt when one of his wild shots in the dark turned out to be right.

An APB was still out for Granger. Uniform had gone door to door and no one had seen anything, of course. CCTV from a wider area was being combed through to see if there was any other way Granger could have slipped away, and to find out where the hell he went. Jack’s balcony garden had a fire escape into an alley behind it. The search expanded outward from there.

“Boss,” Charlie said and knocked. “You are going to love this. Our Jack impersonator is employed by HT Holdings, imports and exports for the most part, but it has a number of sticky fingers in the same pie as VA Taxi Ltd and vice versa. Funds seem to travel a complex route between the two companies. And in the middle of all of it, Alexander Vaughn. He’s clean, no prior arrests or cautions. I would bet anything that they’re connected to Rosemary Parks and Jack.”

Martha picked up her phone, “Good work Charlie, take uniform with you and pay a visit to our cabby friends see what you can find. I’ll get you a warrant.”

 

Jack’s captor applauded slowly. “Well played Mr. Davies. The fingers are small, I’ll allow it. But please, one bone at a time gentleman. You’re eating into my profit margin.”

Jack looked up at the bastard then, he was serious. He was actually serious and laughing about it. They were all laughing about it. Each of his fingers throbbed with building pressure and pain and they were having a fucking laugh.

“Who would like to go next, Mr. Crawford? I see you brought your own weapon. Care to enlighten us as to how this man has wronged you?”

Crawford, now that name did ring a bell. Jack thought. His stomach sank. Oh god, did it ring a bell. This would not end well at all. Freddy Crawford was well connected, but Jack couldn’t prove anything, he was a slippery fucker. His son however…

“I had a son. A good lad, bright and talented. Hell of a good cricketer. Played the sport since he was old enough to wield one of these,” he said and held out the cricket bat. “He was going to go international, had such a bright future. I had it locked down for him. That’s the sort of thing you do for family. And then this incompetent little shit came along and ruined all of it. My boy had nothing to do with what happened to that girl. Nothing. But you couldn’t let it go, could you? You couldn’t just leave him alone!”

“Mr. Crawford I—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what you have to say, _Jack_.” Crawford said and pointed the bat right at him, lightly pushing the end of it into his chest. Of all the people who would want to see Jack dead, there had to be at least one that Jack had actually slighted. The boy was innocent in the end, but until then Jack was like a dog with a fucking bone.

“He had nothing after that, no more sponsorship. His future, gone,” he said. There was a hint of sadness that appeared suddenly and just as quickly turned to rage. “He took his own life last year. Did you know that? Do you know what you did to my boy?”

Crawford pulled the bat back to swing high, a blow that would surely snap Jack’s neck and end the game. His captor stepped in at that point, put a firm hand on Crawford’s shoulder and another on his wrist. Jack hadn’t known that about the boy and guilt prickled through him.

“Mr. Crawford, no one here would doubt your right to take revenge for what he’s done to your family, but can I suggest you aim lower, hmmm?”

Crawford’s determined look didn’t falter. He stared at Jack and held his position.

“He’ll suffer more that way.” Crawford let his arms be guided into a lower swing. “How about a leg to start?”

“Mr. Crawford, please. I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want your god damned apology,” he said and swung low. There was an audible crack where the bat hit Jack’s left shin and the chair leg. The chair leg splintered inward and judging by the scream from Jack, his tibia probably did too. The apple juice in Jack’s stomach made it clear that it wanted nothing to do with any of this and threatened to make a run for it. Jack cried out until he ran out of air, nearly choked on it.

His vision started to fade and unravel around the edges. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, he thought. Don’t fucking pass out either. Don’t look down… and fucking breathe. Just …. breathe…

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some cringeworthy stuff in here. If teeth related things make you squicky, then this is your heads up. Otherwise, have at it.

Uniform were still finishing up a search the garage of VA Taxi, but so far there had been nothing. Charlie walked along the same path that Jack seemed to have from what she gleaned in the CCTV footage. Along the last place she’d truly seen him. He disappeared in the tunnel under the tracks next to the cab company. There had to be something here. Something other than graffiti and garbage. A hidden trap door would offer more of a clue than what they were likely to find by combing through everything else. There was a short stack of flattened cardboard, tarp and blanket tucked behind a large bin. Someone lived here, but they’d taken a walk.

“What are you thinking Charlie?” Martha asked coming along the same path she had.

“This is the last place we can confirm Jack’s whereabouts,” she said. “But to have forensics come through here, it would take a lot longer than we actually have to find anything even remotely useful. Still nothing in the garage?”

“No, not yet.” Martha sighed. She looked tired, the lighting that forensics had rigged in the alley did nothing to diminish the effect. It hadn’t been that long of a day yet, but now it was starting to feel like several days rolled into one.

“Would it be out of line at this point to have a look into Mr. Vaughn’s other business venture? It just seems so odd that the owner of a cab company would have connections to series of abductions, other than having a easy mode of transport available. I know I’m about to sound a lot like Jack, but I’d want to know just what this other company is exporting at this point.”

“It would take time to get a warrant, but I see no reason why we can’t pay them a _friendly_ visit.”

“Right, perhaps with any uniforms we can spare.”

“Of course, anyone one bold enough to abduct one police officer might be dumb enough to try it again, do you know what I mean?”

“Detective Inspector Bellamy.” Martha turned. It was Const. Wilson escorting a bedraggled, bearded man whom Charlie was surprised she had not smelled coming. “This gentleman asked to speak with you.”

“I seen you on the telly in the caf ‘round the corner, you’re the coppers looking for that girl, yeah?”

“Rosemary Parks, yes we are. We’re also looking for a colleague of ours,” Martha said. She pulled up Jack’s photo on her phone and showed it to him. “Have you seen this man?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I thought as much.”

“How can we help you, Mr…”

“Roy Barton ma’am,” he said. Charlie started to take notes. “I’d seen Rosemary before in the area. She seemed a nice kid, but life took a bad turn for her, y’know?”

“How’s that?” Martha asked.

“You sees a lot when no one thinks you’re there looking. She was sad that girl. One more bad day away from bein’ in my shoes.”

“Mr. Barton when was the last time you remember seeing Rosemary?”

“Few days ago I think. Was evening time. Your other copper he was through here this morning.”

“Was he?” Martha said.

Roy paused, unsure of what to say next. “You’re looking at these cabbies, yeah?”

“We are Mr. Barton, did you see anything unusual when my colleague came by this morning?”

“You found anything with them, like arrested them or whatnot?”

“Mr. Barton,” Martha started calmly. “Have you witnessed something you don’t want to speak about here? Did you see what happened to Rosemary Parks or our colleague Detective Sargent Weston?”

“I don’t want to make any trouble for myself, you understand,” he said. “It’d been a long time since I ate proper. But I don’t like this other feeling either, I done something I’m not proud of.”

“Of course, you’re not in any trouble Mr. Barton, you can trust me. Please tell me what you saw.”

“I seen them take your detective friend. They paid me forty quid to help them and keep my mouth shut,” he said and his eyes took on a bit of a shine, he started to worry at the torn zipper of his coat. “Told me to ask him for money and then they… I’m sorry I didn’t know they was gonna do what they did. I didn’t know. And I was so hungry.”

“Mr. Barton, Roy, you’ve done the right thing by coming to me here, can you tell us what happened?”

“They knocked him out and took him back down the alley there, to the garage. Please, I didn’t see where they took him from there. D’you think that’s what they done to Rosemary? She’s a good kid, she don’t deserve that.”

“Roy, you’ve been incredibly helpful. It would be more helpful if you could come down to the station and provide a statement. Would you be willing to do that for us?”

Roy looked worried for a moment, like it was a trap and he was in trouble after all. “Any description you can provide of the person or persons you saw this morning will go a long way toward helping us find Rosemary. I promise we’ll look after you, alright?”

He nodded again.

Charlie watched as Roy Barton went off with the constable. “Starting to seem like we’ll need more than a friendly visit to Mr. Vaughn’s other establishment, Boss.”

“Right, I’m going to head back to base. I will get you what you need, see if we can chase up any more details about where Jack went from here. If they took him back to the garage a cab could have taken him literally anywhere. Head down there, I’ll let you know the moment I have anything for you.”

 

For a moment the pain had stopped. Was it just a few minutes? Twenty minutes? An hour? Jack wished he’d been more aware of that space in between. He would have appreciated it more. But now the pain was returning, bringing nausea with it. And he was still here, he had let himself hope that he’d wake up anywhere else. Home, a hospital, anywhere but here. His hands throbbed and tingled, the ties were too tight to accommodate for the swelling. His left leg felt like it was on fire. His head still hung low from when he passed out. He opened his eyes and saw only his lap. Had he been in less pain or had less fear for his life he might have had the sense to be embarrassed at having wet himself somewhat.

He kept his head down, hoping that no one would notice, keep his consciousness a secret, but he couldn’t keep his disappointment to himself. Tears threatened to fall, he shut his eyes. While he was out, nothing else seemed to have happened to him and he wanted to keep it that way. But they noticed. His captor made a show of pointing that out to the others.

“Yeah, you’re still here, Jack. And no one is coming for you,” he said and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’re mine, and soon you’ll belong to one of them.” Resting a meaty hand on Jack’s neck and leaning down next to his ear, “did you enjoy your little nap?”

The hand squeezed gently, Jack barely nodded. “Good, because I’m sure you’ll have needed the rest for this next part. This last fellow seems very keen to get his hands on you.” The hand moved up along the contours of the back of Jack’s head and took a handful of hair and pulled his head up so he could face his audience.

There was just one man left this round. A man that Jack had recognized straight away: Dr. Paul Stevens. A man Jack had put in jail successfully, but not for nearly long enough. Stevens had been a dentist and a key member of a pedophile ring. He mostly organized, but he also couldn’t keep his hands to himself in a professional setting, preferring to wait until his patients were anesthetized or simply delirious with laughing gas. His role in the ring couldn’t be proven beyond reasonable doubt, but what he’d done with his own disgusting hands hadn’t gone unpunished. Only one victim was willing to testify, only five years, it was a slap in the face.

Now Dr. Stevens sat patiently just beyond the bright lights in his cheap suit that hung awkwardly on his narrow frame, an unknown companion stood behind him in the shadows, dressed just as poorly.Stevens had sat there through all of it so far and said not a word apart from a laugh. And now that Jack was awake again, he smiled, a row of perfect fucking teeth glowing just behind the light. At least the man had lost most of his hair in the intervening years.

“Dr. Stevens, I appreciate your patience,” his captor said and patted Jack on the back. “He’s all yours.”

“Thank you, Alex. T’was no trouble. No trouble at all,” He said and and got up slowly. He pulled a pair of white latex gloves from one of his suit pockets and began to put them on. Jack’s already pounding heart fluttered as the former dentist approached, the gloves squeaking as they stretched over each hand.

“Hello Jack, I know you remember me. Don’t you?” He said, like was addressing a patient, calm and reassuring.

Jack nodded. “Pedophile dentist, hard to forget.” George Davies seemed to perk up at that. Crawford narrowed his gaze at him. “You two didn’t know that did you? You’re in the company of a fucking nonce, a convicted child molester,” Jack said.

Another backhand slammed into Jack’s mouth.

“Screaming and begging only, remember?” Alex said.

“It’s no bother, Alex. Detective Weston, has some very strong opinions about my past. He has conviction, but so do I. Jack, do you have any idea how much you’ve cost my organization or myself over the last five years?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jack replied. He wanted to sound a lot less frightened than he was, but the nausea was starting to get to him. The tremble in his voice betrayed him.

“Not just financially, but my career. All of it ruined. I had to move, I had to change my name. I’m not a bad person, Jack,” he said and stood between the light, casting a shadow over him. Jack didn’t suppress a laugh at the lie. “I was a pillar of the community. An upstanding, God fearing man. Have you read the bible?”

“Not recently, no.”

“I spent a good deal of time in prison reading the bible. Not just to aid my early release for good behaviour, but to learn from it. I’ve embraced its teachings, the ideals of justice. I’d like to share one of those lessons with you now,” He said and slowly reached into the inner suit pocket. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”

Dr. Stevens pulled a shiny pair of dental pliers from his pocket and held it up to the light.

“Shhhit.” Jack hadn’t struggled much since he’d been sat in the chair or even since he first woke up in the boat, but now he did. Jack disliked dentists at the best of times, lamented going every time. If he lived through this, he’d never be able to visit one again. He ignored the pain in his hands and his leg and instinctively tried to pull free of his bonds. He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

The light glinted off the shiny metal as Stevens gestured to the silent companion he’d come with to join him. Stevens stood to the side to make use of the light. His companion stood behind Jack, and put his sweaty hands on Jack’s face, tilting it back.

Dr. Stevens looked down and smiled. “open.”

 

After a couple of cups of tea Roy had been able to provide an accurate description of the men that had attacked Jack, one of which was William Granger. The other based on a rendering of the description bore a striking resemblance to Alex Vaughn. There had been no contact from anyone regarding a ransom for either Rosemary Parks or Jack. Back at their base, a search through the missing person’s data base found a number of unsolved cases within afive mile radius of VA Taxi in the last three years. Charlie was almost afraid to dig any deeper, who knows how many missing persons they’d end up connecting to this. And it was mere blocks from the station. How could they have so completely failed to notice this all this time?

William Granger had finally been spotted on CCTV and tracked south of the river headed toward Greenwich and HT Holdings. Well out of their borough, but that wasn’t going to stop them by any means. It just meant that finding Jack, and hopefully Rosemary Parks and who knows how many others, was now even more of a group effort.

Charlie had consumed a few cups of coffee herself, the day was about to get longer. Martha had diverted her to the Greenwich station while she was en route to pay her friendly visit, it turned out that they were not the only CID team with more than a passing interest in HT Holdings. They were met by a small team from the Tactical Firearms Unit upon arrival and briefed. Charlie knew that a protective vest would do just that for her vital organs, but she never like the idea that a knife or a bullet might hit her anywhere else. Only TFU got to wear what amounted to body armour.

She pulled the last strap of the vest into place and tried to put that idea out of her head. What replaced it was her concern that they would be too late. That both Jack and Rosemary were already dead. She took a deep breath and reminded herself again of what Jack always reminded her of: it’s not a murder until they find a body. And she was going to find him, and not just his body. They were all going to find him.

“Are you ready, Charlie?” Martha asked from the entrance of the armoury.

Charlie put her coat on over the vest and nodded. “Yeah, Boss.”

 

Jackie Sloan had been in love with the idea of Alex Vaughn and the ideas he came up with, but she hadn’t been in love with the man himself in ages. The uglier his schemes became, the uglier he became to her. The room where they were keeping the detective wasn’t air and sound tight. She wasn’t close by, and she had a live feed of the room itself. She wasn’t sure if she was just imagining the screams or if she was actually hearing them echo through the warehouse.

Alex had taken it too far this time, even if he wasn’t getting his hands dirty. She feigned excitement at the idea, he kept up the facade, it was the only way he would trust her with the money. As if he could do any of the tech himself. She had all of it wired just right, programmed to bug out in her favour the moment she needed out. From her mission control she monitored all of it. She had their security cameras for both locations displayed prominently. She’d watched the small-scale raid on the garage and the forensic team sweeping it. She caught sight of the homeless man they had bribed speaking to the police. She’d set her program in motion.

All of the funds were transferring to an account Alex didn’t know she possessed. Safe and secure, off shore. Sure, she could have warned everyone of the impending raid. But why? The men they employed were lechers. The front of their business was only just barely profitable. She was shocked it took this long for anyone to suspect they might be importing and exporting something more dear than cheap plastic trinkets and souvenirs that were made in China.

To hell with them. She would be on a plane to Bermuda before anyone was the wiser.

 

“Come on now,” Dr. Stevens said, once again resuming his professional tone. Light glinted off the pliers, held at the ready. “Nice and wide.”

Jack kept his mouth clamped shut and tried to shake off the hands that held his chin and forehead. Clammy fingers tried to pry his lips apart, tried to wiggle their way in between his teeth to pull his mouth open, but Jack refused to budge. Except to snap at the intruding fingers. He pinched one of them in his front teeth and the companion backed off, swearing and shaking his hand. Jack caught the slightest snickering in the background from the others.

Dr. Stevens tutted. “That was unkind, Jack,” he said, the calm tone grating on Jack’s last frayed nerve. A gloved hand reached up and caressed Jack’s cheek. “I haven’t forgotten how to deal with a difficult patient you know. But, thanks to you, now that I can no longer practice, I also no longer have to adhere to professional standards.”

Stevens motioned for his companion to resume his position, which he did with a firmer grip. Dr. Stevens dropped the hand that had been petting his hair and Jack felt a warm, firm, rubbery hand grip one of his wayward fingers. A whimper escaped.

“Open,” he said.

Jack shook his head, a small, rapid jerking motion. “Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth. Dr. Stevens wrenched the finger back into position, the crunch was audible and sickening and Jack howled. The good doctor’s companion wasted no time in getting a firm grip on Jack’s jaw and held his mouth wide open.

“Good,” he said, gratingly calm. “Now, this might sting a little. Hold still.”

Stevens leaned in close, choosing a tooth with care as if he were looking for decay or a rotten one to pull, as if he were doing Jack a favour. The man smiled, pleased with his selection he pulled Jack’s cheek aside with one gloved finger and reached in with the pliers. He gripped the lower right second molar firmly and began to work at it. Shifting the tooth abruptly from side to side. Jack hollered.

“You’re doing great, Jack,” he said over the screaming like this was routine. Jack heard the cracking in his jaw, felt the sound in his head, as Dr. Stevens continued to work, wiggling the tooth, twisting it until finally it came lose. Pain, like Jack hadn’t experienced before, seemed to resonate through his skull and into his brain. If it had a pitch only dogs would be able to hear it.

“Well done,” Stevens said and patted Jack’s cheek. “Was that so hard?”

The iron grip on his head relented and Jack leaned forward to let the blood spill out over his lips. He cried out only once, the sound of it reverberating along the same path the pain had opened and he fell silent. Reduced to whimpering he kept his head down and let the blood drip. Tears that had threatened to fall earlier now fell freely, but he couldn’t weep. It hurt too much. He couldn’t fathom another round of this. He certainly couldn’t imagine surviving it.

A haze started to form, started to compete with the agony in his jaw. A hum he couldn’t ignore started to drown out everything else: the faint sound of someone laughing, shouting and threats, heavy boots hitting the ground. He wouldn’t pass out again, he refused. But he couldn’t concentrate on the present either.

The shouting grew louder, demanding his attention, but he didn’t look up. It was safer like this. No one was hurting him if he played dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue happens.

The only subtle thing about the convoy of police an emergency vehicles was that they hadn’t turned their sirens on. Anyone seeing them approach along Prince St. certainly would have turned their head, this was a few more police vehicles than this neighbourhood regularly saw in one go, but Charlie had doubts that they’d be shocked by it.

The warehouse they sought was in the middle of a barren, half over-grown yard. Piles of dirt from old construction and its detritus was scattered about. There was easy access to the river with docks at the back of the the block.

They surrounded the building covering the exits. There was next to no light in the lot around the building, so headlights and spot lights were pointed at the doors, they surrounded the place like a halo of light. Tactical would enter first, clearing a path sweeping the building ahead of them. Charlie, Martha and DC Roscoe and DS Groves from CID2 would follow behind with uniforms from the Greenwich branch.

As they approached the door, Charlie wondered if their approach had been spotted. Or if they had been tipped off. There was no commotion, it didn’t seem like anyone was minding the shop. It was eerily quiet.

Inside, once Charlie’s eyes adjusted to the dim fluorescents there was just row upon row of shelvingjammed with wood crates and boxes. There was a loft office above it all, and it stunk like all warehouses. Mothballs, machinery and stale smoke. The place appeared vacant, yet another red flag. A business like this would run 24/7 if they planned to stay in business and there wasn’t a worker bee in sight.

The tac team lightly stomped their way down the aisles to the back wall. A large rolling over head door was to the right, but this couldn’t have been all of it. A bit further down to the left was a secure door with a keycard lock. They had a Big Red Key for the main door, no reason to believe it wouldn’t unlock this one too.

Through the door everything about the building changed. There were massive shipping crates in rows that looked like they hadn’t moved in decades. If anything it looked more derelict than the rest of the property, but if that was the case, why keep it behind a secure door? Unless their cargo was more valuable and than anything else they had and less legal than the lot of it.

A muted scream caught not just Charlie’s attention, but that of the tac team who moved in on a room built into the rear corner of the warehouse. The screaming continued, and Charlie strained her ears to make out the voice, trying to convince herself it wasn’t Jack even if that would mean he was still alive. Though by the sounds of it, whoever had made that sound probably wouldn’t be alive much longer.

The door kicked in, revealed a gruesome scene. Between the boots of the tac team she could see what looked like bone and brain on the floor, a puddle of blood surrounding it. She couldn’t see at first who that mess might have belonged to. She swallowed her apprehension, she would be professional, keep a cool head. She tore her gaze away from the gore, focus on the present danger.

Orders were being shouted to drop weapons. She caught sight of a man on the far left with a handgun which was dropped with some reluctance. There was the sound of wood clattering against the concrete floor.

“Clear!”

Martha and Charlie rushed in behind them. DS Groves made a bee-line to Alex Vaughn and had him cuffed before Charlie could even assess the room. To her great relief Jack was not the body on the floor, but he didn’t appear to be faring any better. He was slumped forward in a chair, zip-tied at the wrists and ankles, and that was the least of the indignity they inflicted on him. Some of his fingers pointed in the wrong directions. There was blood down the front of his shirt and seeping through his pant leg. She smelled piss. The slight movement of his shoulders up and down told her what she needed to know: he was still alive.

 

Jack kept his head down, tuned out the noises around him. He shut his eyes tight, and kept his mouth shut. What little managed to get through to him made him glad that none of it was happening to him, for once. Shouting, a loud crack a deafening silence followed by more shouting and sickening crunching noises. All of it failed to reach Jack, where his mind seemed to be hiding, retreating further, dreading the next blow. He could only hope that he’d stirred the pot enough among the three of them that they’d taken to violence against each other instead of himself.

He could hear his name, but everyone in the room knew it. It could be a trick. His name repeated softly at first and then with more urgency and he ignored it until it was followed by a touch of his shoulder. A soft touch. He startled at the lack of pain and looked up. Large brown eyes full of concern, the face trying to stay professional. She’d found him, thank fuck. Charlie had found him.

“Jack? Jesus, Jack can you hear me?” She said.

Jack opened his mouth to say her name. Blood spilled over his bottom lip and pain found its way back into his jaw on the inhale. “Cha” was as far as he got.

“Christ,” she muttered and turned to shout behind her, “Where is the Medic?” She turned back to him, her professional mask slipping just so, taking a step back to look at him.“You’re going to be okay now Jack, I promise. We’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

He looked down again, spotted his tooth on the floor, it was not far from what used to be Dr. Stevens’ head. Must have dropped it in the attack. Nausea started to churn his stomach again. Charlie followed his gaze and muttered what was surely not the last swear word of the day and put herself between him and the gore, but Jack retreated again, trying to tune it out. Blood and bone on concrete, some of it his. He didn’t want any part of it.

The voices around him became muffled. People moved and shifted around him. Lights shone into his eyes. He felt pressure release around his ankles and wrists. Somehow it didn’t make the pain go away. The voices droned on around him. He felt hands all over the places that hurt most. He could tune out a lot, but more pain would find it’s way through. He didn’t come back out until someone tried to open his mouth to look inside.

Reflex kicked in, now that his arms were free and even though his hands throbbed, he tried to push the intruder away, which was futile since someone had wrapped his hands in cumbersome splints.

“Okay, okay,” one of the medics said. She came into sharp focus, kind face, dark skin, brown eyes. She held her hands up, she had no weapons or tools. “Easy now, I need you to stay calm. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He stared at her, not quite believing her. She held up a rolled bit of gauze. It appeared to be harmless.

“This will help with the pain in your mouth and stop the bleeding, okay? May I?” She asked. Jack stared a bit longer. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

He nodded reluctantly. The medic opened her mouth hoping he’d take the hint. He did and winced at the cool air invading the space where a tooth used to live. The wad of gauze tucked in neatly, he was instructed to bite down gently and much to his surprise it did help.

“There you go,” The woman smiled. “You’re doing great. She said. It was a poor distraction for what happened next.

His leg moved next and he grunted around the gauze. The pant leg was cut away and he immediately regretted looking down. He hadn’t noticed he was bleeding, all he’d felt was pressure and burning pain. But now he saw that there was a not insignificant amount of his own blood on the floor. Blood had been the least of his worries, but it explained why he wanted to sleep and throw up at the same time.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” The medic asked. Her partner applied bandages and padding to his leg. Jack looked down at his hands and shook his head. The stretcher rolled into view next to him. Jack thought he would die in this chair, despite his captor’s adamance that he die somewhere else. And now he would be free of it. Several hands took hold of him from both sides, he flinched only slightly.

“On three,” the woman said. “One, two, three!”

The comfort of the gurney was only a small consolation to the pain of being hoisted onto it. Movement made everything hurt anew. A mask appeared from the corner of his eye and a chest strap came up and he tried to block all of it, shook his head, but couldn’t speak. The other medic tried to calm him.

“Sorry Jack, it’s for your safety, can’t have you rolling off onto the floor and you’ll feel much better with the mask on,” the woman said. “Arms at your sides please. You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safely secured, but no less assured, they set Jack in motion through a maze of shipping crates. Uniformed officers were cracking them open and people came out, some of them reluctantly. He had enough sense to look to see if Rosemary Parks was one of them, but he was moving through too quickly to get a good look. Soon enough he was through the busted door and felt the cool night air coming in through the garage door and he shivered slightly when a breeze bushed against the sweat on his skin. He caught a slight whiff of the Thames as they approached at the ambulance waiting just outside and several more appeared to be arriving. Jack honestly thought he would never get to breathe in the that musty, earthy smell of the Thames at low tide ever again. No one really liked the smell of the river, but right now the fact that he could smell it just reminded him that his body _wasn’t_ going to be dumped in it. It smelled fantastic.

Once he was inside the ambulance, the doors shut, several wires leading to beeping things were attached to to him. He felt a small sharp pain in the crook of his arm, the woman smiled. She sat up close, right next to him. He felt warmth and relaxation spread through his muscles, even if they still hurt. His mind seemed to float but it was still tethered and snapped back with every big bump in the road. The voices and chirps of the radio occasionally broke through, but it made little sense.

“That should help a bit, eh?” The woman said. He nodded. Her name tag said ‘A. Berger’. That’s a funny name, he thought and closed his eyes. He _was_ awfully tired. A burger, sounded pretty good, if he didn’t also want to be sick. He half smiled and started to drift off. “You’re going to be just fine.”

 

Deep down, in a tightly guarded corner of Charlie’s mind lived the desire to believe that they would be wrong about a case. That it couldn’t be that bad, and today she had done her best to ignore the idea that no one could possibly be running a human trafficking organization just down river from Canary Wharf. It couldn’t be. No one is that despicable.

As crate after crate were opened and terrified people made their way out slowly, that desire withered into nothing. Medics were called into a couple of the crates, bringing the weak and weary out by stretcher. As much as Charlie wanted that little hidden belief to be true, she always knew it was wrong. Someone was always that despicable. The longer she stayed in this job the less she even acknowledged that corner of herself. The more she outright ignored it.

Martha redirected her attention from the crates back to the room where they’d found Jack. And a corpse. Charlie side stepped the gore to the right of the door. The body had been covered with a tarp for now, awaiting the coroner to take it away. SOCOs were still working in the room, photographing everything. Charlie pulled her gaze away from the small pool of blood under the chair.

“Do you know who this was Charlie?” Martha asked.

“No, how on earth can anyone tell?” She replied. The body was face down, or what was left of their face down. It didn’t look as though anyone had touched or moved him to get at his wallet for ID.

“If I’m not mistaken this was one of the first pedophiles Jack put behind bars. Paul Stevens, I’m honestly surprised he survived prison, it’s not a kind place for his lot.”

“Must have had it easy away from the general population.” Charlie guessed.

“Must have,” Martha agreed. “This certainly wasn’t prison, but a locked room full of criminals is a locked room full of criminals. I’m guessing someone outed the former good doctor. Any guesses as to who that might be?”

“Just the one, boss.” Of course Jack would have outed the man. Who knows how much he’d been beaten before he had the chance. Anything to divert the attention and violence elsewhere. She couldn’t judge, she would probably do the same were she in Jack’s shoes.

Martha nodded and picked her way across the floor to the door and Charlie followed her out happily. Even if she was going from one gruesome scene to another. At least the victims here were still alive, skulls intact, she thought. She caught a glimpse inside one of the crates and realized she’d spoken to herself too soon. A white sheet covered someone just inside one of the crates. That’ll be a murder charge for Mr. Vaughn.

“Inspector Bellamy!” One of the uniforms called out. “Someone here you’ll want to see.”

Charlie looked on as well and sitting, legs swinging, on a stretcher with a shiny emergency blanket around her shoulders was Rosemary Parks. She was disheveled and a bit shaky, but she seemed no worse for wear and more importantly very much alive. Despite the horror of what was uncovered in this warehouse tonight, Charlie was two for two, both alive if not well.

“Rosemary Parks?” Martha asked. The girl looked at the two of them and nodded. “My name is Martha Bellamy, Detective Inspector. This is my colleague Detective Constable Charlie Steele. We’ve been looking for you. How are you feeling Rosemary?”

“Um, I’m okay, I think. I’m hungry and I have a wicked headache,” she said. The shaking increased and she started to cry as if the reality of what happened to her was just starting to dawn on her. Charlie did not look forward to finding out what the last 72 hours were like for Rosemary, but she would if it meant nailing the asshole responsible for it. Martha reached a hand to Rosemary’s shoulder and the poor girl actually leaned in.

“We’re going to take good care of you Rosemary,” she said and held her for a moment. “It’s going to get better, I promise. First step is to get you to hospital to make sure you’re okay and get you something to eat and drink. We’ll have a chat later, alright?”

Rosemary sniffed and nodded. She tucked a wild piece hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. Rosemary and hugged the blanket a bit tighter. One of the medics tried to encourage her to swing her legs up onto the stretcher, but she shied away from their touch.

“It’s okay to go with them, Rosemary,” Charlie said. “You’ll be safe. That’s a promise.”

The girl did as she was asked and was rewarded with another blanket. Charlie and Martha waited until she was safely in the ambulance before turning to face the rest of the scene. SOCOs in their white coveralls, uniforms milling about and what seemed like half the NHS reserve of paramedics. Fatigue was starting to set in now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but had to compete with the scene before her and her concern for her partner. Charlie barely suppressed a yawn.

“It’s been an unbelievably long day Charlie. We won’t be able to talk to Rosemary until tomorrow I expect. We’ve got them, Charlie. NCA and Organized Crime will probably take it from here, but we’ve still got a lot of work to do and you can’t do any of it without a bit of rest, yeah?

“Go home, get some sleep if you can. Fresh eyes for tomorrow.”

Charlie watched the noisy crime scene around her for a moment longer.“Right,” she said. “Thank you.”

“When Jack’s on his feet again, the three of us will drink a pub dry. For now, rest.”

“I will hold you to that one, Boss.”

 

Jack had no idea what day it was or how long it had been since he’d last had bodily autonomy. He only knew that it was dark out when he left the warehouse. The shot he was given in the ambulance had worn off before reaching the hospital since they had been redirected twice en route. Jack had been nothing but strapped down, held down, hit, handled, and hurt in the last 24 hours and even now that he was in A&E and in a safe place, it was still happening and he was powerless to stop it.

Doctors and nurses had cut away his clothes, he had really liked that shirt… They were poking and prodding him to see what hurt, asking him questions he couldn’t answer with more than a nod or shake or a grunt. Sticking him with needles and attaching things to his skin, there was a sweaty plastic oxygen mask on his face that he couldn’t remove. Fat load of good it was doing, anyway. Jack was exhausted and couldn’t speak and he was pretty sure that he was going to fucking snap if everyone didn’t leave him the fuck alone in the next five minutes. Just five minutes with nothing stuck to him, with no one asking him to move or moving him about without asking. Just five minutes of quiet without pain. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.

He couldn’t even see the walls, just people in scrubs buzzing around him and the blinding light above. An occasional face would pop into view to offer comfort, but it only made the space around him feel smaller.

And right about the time that a surgeon came round, he could take no more. The surgeon, an older asian man, whom Jack would have thought had a kinder face if it wasn’t so close to his own right now, leaned down. Too close. The surgeon removed the mask to get a closer look at the empty space in his gums and that was it. He snapped. And it would have been far more effective if he could use his hands or be more articulate than grunts and whimpers. He tried to sit up, he swatted at the face hovering over his own and at the people around him, trying to dislodge the wires stuck to him, but he might as well have had stumps for hands. Nothing worked. And that only made it worse.

Words only came out half formed as if he was trying to speak around a mouthful of thick peanut butter.

“Jack, hey. Hey, it’s okay,” one of the nurses said. Jack elbowed him away.

“You’re okay. I need you to calm down,” another one chimed in, the doctor this time. What was her name, Jack thought. Was it Khan? She was gently trying to settle him back down. “Lie back, please. Let’s give him a little space shall we?”

Some of the staff stepped back slightly, enough that they could still do their job.

“I know all of this might seem overwhelming, a little bit scary?” She said. Jack nodded. “And you’ve been through an ordeal, but we need you to hold on just a bit longer. We’re going to make this as easy as possible for you, but you need to stay calm. Okay?”

Jack nodded again, tried to take deep breaths at his doctor’s insistence. It was all he could do and it was almost working. One of the nurses was pushing something into the IV.

“Good, deep breaths. Try to relax. James is giving you something to help with your pain, it’ll help you relax. My colleague Dr. Nguyen would like to examine the wound in your mouth. Is that okay? I promise he won’t hurt you.”

Once again relaxation started to spread, seemed to drip from the brain downward, even if he was horizontal. Tension slipped away. Jack looked forward to not remembering this part in great detail later on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff and feel good things this time. Good news and recovery begins.

Charlie had been sent home after the last of the abductees was sent off to hospital to be looked after. A second forensics shift had joined the first and continued combing through the crates and TIU were beginning the process of dismantling the computer systems and CCTV for transport back to base. There wasn’t anything else she could do, aside from paperwork and that could wait till morning. She’d had several long days in a row and a weekend off seemed impossibly far away at this point. Exhausted didn’t begin to cover it. Bone tired was closer to the truth, she couldn’t even keep warm anymore, she had been that tired.

Tea was the only thing she wanted, even if it meant keeping her up even longer. Tea and a warm bed with soft pillows and a heavy blanket. Two out of the, the holy trinity balm for a rough case: Tea, sleep, ale. The order didn’t matter as much as long as the paperwork got done. She’d save the pints for later, after she checked in with Jack. She might need it then.

Back at the station at what felt like the crack of dawn after having been working until 3 am. She found a mountain of paperwork. Martha would be spending the better part of the afternoon with Jack’s mother at the hospital, the team owed Ms. Weston that much. The only news she had of Jack was that he was in serious condition, but stable. She would hold onto that bit of good news to get through the work before her: matching previous missing persons cases with those found in the warehouse. Tracking down family members and next of kin. She would have the privilege of contacting Gerald Sampson, Rosemary’s uncle to tell him that she had been found and she was safe.

Charlie took her joy where she could.

The line rang and Mr. Sampson picked up at what had to be the last second before voice mail.

“Hello?” A man answered.

“Mr. Gerald Sampson?” Charlie asked.

“This is him,” he replied. There was a strange blend of hope and dread. Charlie wondered if he had been watching the news. The media wouldn’t hold off on this for much longer.

“Mr. Sampson this is DC Charlie Steele, we spoke yesterday about your niece Rosemary Parks.”

“Yeah… yeah I remember. Have you any news for me?” His mixed tone intensified.

“I do Mr. Sampson. I’m calling to tell you that we’ve found Rosemary, she’s alive and well,” she said and waited for his reaction to subside. It was always like this, sighs and laughter and crying. Few people are ever prepared for a loved one to go missing, they are even less prepared than you would think for news of their safe return. People expect the worst. “She was taken to Guy’s Hospital to be sure she’s alright. I saw her myself last night, Mr. Sampson she appeared fine, but we want to be sure.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Of course, of course,” he said and chuckled and sniffed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know what to expect. Can I see her?”

“Of course you can, of course. She might be relieved to see a familiar face. She might need your support through this.”

He chuckled, “I’ll do my best. I don’t know if I’ll be that familiar, but I’ll try. Thank you, Detective. Thank you for this. For finding her.”

Charlie accepted the gratitude, though it was Jack’s pigheadedness and sloppy criminals that found her. She accepted thanks on behalf of everyone.

 

Jack has been broken before. He broke his arm once. He fell out of a tree when he was seven, put his arm out to break the fall, quite literally. Well, if one was to be specific and honest, Jack didn’t fall out of the tree. His older brother pushed him out. Jack never really understood the reason, but that didn’t come out until later. Even when it became clear that Kevin was sick, Jack still kept the secret. Jack loved his older brother. Kevin was only two years older but Jack looked up to him then. Jack didn’t tell anyone that he’d been pushed until much later, until well after his brother’s first stint in a psychiatric hospital.

But no one believed him, or they didn’t want to. Not until later. And by then it was too late.

Jack’s first cast was heavy and cumbersome and itchy and he hated it. What might as well have been his whole right arm had to be encased in the damn thing right at the start of the summer. So it meant no swimming, no bike rides, no playing outside or climbing trees. No fun at all. Summer had been ruined, but Jack kept the secret and Kevin never questioned it and never thanked him, he believed that Jack had just lost his footing and fell out of the tree. Kevin believed a lot of things that weren’t true.

Jack didn’t remember much else about the fall and the cast, he just remembered that it hurt a lot and that it had been a long drive to the next town to see a doctor. His whole family had still taken trips and weekend holidays to the coast, to Bettystown Beach which Jack had been excited about for months before the accident.

Kevin had a grand time splashing about in the water. Jack just stood at the shore with his feet in the water, a plastic bag wrapped around his whole right arm and pouted. Couldn’t even play with the sand, you need two hands to make a sandcastle. Any kid knows that.

The memories of that summer faded in and out. Sunshine and sand blended in with the florescent light over head and the beige walls before he’d slip under again. Reliving that summer, over and over. His mum there, encouraging him to go and play and comforting him when he couldn’t. Falling through the branches and hitting the ground but feeling no pain. Slow building frustration at the itch all along his arm and that he couldn’t move it. Why couldn’t he move it. He still couldn’t move it, and then he’d open his eyes.

Florescent light, beige walls.

Medications.

Memories.

 

Martha had spent a not-insignificant amount of time in her career sitting in hospital waiting areas. They all looked the same after a while. Muted colours, uncomfortable, identical chairs. Donated magazines. She’d used to make the best use of her time by working, reviewing her notes and thinking of better ways to get the information she needed before visiting and interviewing victims and suspects alike. Today she wasn’t alone in her waiting, but she hadn’t brought any work to do. She had taken the chance to step out before a member of staff came by, to fetch tea for herself and for Ms. Weston. Flora.

Martha suspected that Flora had spent a good portion of her time in hospital waiting areas, though not necessarily for Jack. Martha first met Flora through her husband Jacob, ex husband as far as she knew, who joined The Met when their whole family moved to London nearly 15 years ago. They had come to London to take advantage of better care for her other son Kevin. Martha was just a DS back then and so was Flora’s husband. Martha kept in touch with Flora sporadically after her husband lost his nerve and left all of them to retreat back home, more so after the incident. Flora was beside herself for a long time after that. Martha wondered if she’d ever truly recover. Martha wasn’t sure she would be able to were she in Flora’s shoes.

Now, Flora sat in the middle of a row of empty chairs, staring at the magazines on a wall rack across the room. The fingers of one hand idly fiddling with the zipper pull on the purse in her lap. Martha held out the foam cup to her waiting room companion.

“Thought you might need this,” Martha said.

Flora looked up and seemed disappointed that Martha wasn’t a member of the staff come to tell her that she could see the only son she had left. She refocused on the offered tea and smiled.

“Bless your heart, yes. Thank you,” she said and held it close, just smelling it. The steam settled on her glasses and dissipated just as quickly, but she didn’t seem to mind. “I never wanted to get _that_ phone call from you, but I always knew it might happen someday. I secretly hoped it was for Jacob, I know that makes me an awful person, but it’s the truth.”

“It’s a phone call I never want to make regardless, but Jack will be pleased to see you when he wakes up.” Martha said, ignoring the comment about the ex husband. Martha understood the resentment, it was well earned. “We just need to give him time. I assume the doctor hasn’t come round yet?”

Flora shook her head and sipped at the tea.

“Jack’s strong, He’ll pull through,” Martha offered.

“If by strong you mean stubborn and pigheaded, then yes. He’ll be just fine.”

“That sounds like the Jack I know.”

“He speaks very highly of you, you know,” Flora said. “In a professional setting, of course. I just wanted you to know that in case he, well… Just in case.”

“Flora, I am flattered, but you mustn’t think like that. There’s something to be said for being prepared for the worst, but he’s going to be fine. I just know it.”

“I know, I mean. I hope so. Christ, I’m a mess,” she said and wiped her cheek. Martha passed a box of tissues from the table for her to take a few. “Thank you for sitting with me, I’m certain you’ve a lot more pressing matters to tend to than watching me worry.”

“What Jack inadvertently stumbled upon is much larger than my team could handle on their own. A sight higher than my pay grade. Another division is taking the lead now, but all our hard work wasn’t for naught and there’s still work to be done, but it’ll get done. I am more than happy to sit with you through this. I’m his boss, but I’m also your friend and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also concerned.”

Martha had caught a glimpse of Jack in the warehouse, still bound to a chair and bleeding and dribbling into his own lap. The remains of a criminal he’d put away within sight. Martha was less worried about the physical impact than she was about the psychological one. She wondered at what he’d seen and recoiled at the thought.

“Ms. Weston?”

They both looked up, a slender woman in blue scrubs and a white coat stood in the door way. Olive skin, dark hair pulled back.

Flora found words eventually. “Yes, that’s me.” The woman sat in the empty chair next to her.

“I’m Dr. Khan, I treated your son when he first arrived in A&E. How are you feeling Ms. Weston?”

The doctor and Flora looked down at her shaking hands and put the tea down on the table in front of her. “I’m fine, just, well you know.”

Dr. Khan smiled, she knew. She looked to Martha as well with a silent question.

“Anything you want to tell me about my son you can say in front of her, just tell me he’s alright.”

“I expect Jack will make a full recovery Ms. Weston, but he will need time. He has suffered several fractures on both hands and his left leg and there was some oral trauma,” she said and put her hand on Flora’s shaking one. “Now, Ms. Weston I’d like to take you see Jack, but I want you to be prepared. He has had surgery to repair some of the damage to his mouth and to stabilize his leg. Due to the local anesthesia, he won’t be able to speak just yet, if he’s awake. He will seem a bit out of sorts, there are a number of medications in his system to keep him comfortable and stable, but he can hear anything you want to say.”

Flora nodded, wiped a tear away from her cheek with her fingers. “Martha, can she come with me? Is she allowed in?” She asked the doctor and turned to Martha. “Would you come with me?”

“Of course I’ll come with you.”

“It’s fine with me,” Dr. Khan said. “But he’s not fit for interview yet, Inspector.”

“Perfectly alright,” Martha replied “I’m here in my capacity as a friend of the family at this point.”

“This way then,” Dr. Khan stood and gestured down the corridor.

Martha had seen many victims in the hospital in rough shape, she’d reviewed countless medical forensic photographs. She wasn’t exactly numb to it, she still had compassion, and she knew what to expect, but she wasn’t looking forward to seeing a colleague in that condition. She had prepared herself to see wires and tubing everywhere and machinery, but as the three of them came around the door way, she was relieved to find she had over estimated the damage. At first glance anyway.

To Flora it was as bad as it could be. She went straight to the bedside and reached out to touch him, but hesitated as she wasn’t sure where she could do so. She couldn’t hold either hand, each one was propped on its own pillow and wrapped with a variety of splints and tape. She couldn’t touch his face, the right side of it appeared swollen and a bruise that covered most of his jaw was visible under the scruff of his beard.

There certainly was no shortage of lead wires and apparatus, but it was not as bad as she imagined. He was breathing on his own, a good sign, though the device holding Jack’s heavily bandaged leg straight suggested a difficult road ahead yet. Martha stood by her friend. Both of them, it would be a while before Jack was ready for active duty if he chose to return at all.

Flora’s hand eventually settled on his shoulder and then migrated to his forehead. She seemed to sneak glances at his leg, suspended and held fast with large pins, and seemed to regret it each time. Dr. Khan followed her glances as well.

“The fracture is stable at the moment, the pins keep it in position for now, it will allow time for the wound to heal,” Dr. Khan explained. “He will need further surgery to set the bones properly, but he will recover Ms. Weston. We will take excellent care of him.”

“Thank you,” Flora said without looking away from her son’s face. Martha couldn’t see Flora’s face, but she could hear her sniffle. Martha took a tissue from atop the bedside cabinet and once again offered it to her friend.

“I will be at the end of the corridor, Ms. Weston, if you have any questions.” Flora nodded and still kept her eyes on Jack. She didn’t want to miss it if he happened to wake.

 

The red wool beach blanket was itchy on the bare part of his legs and so was the inside of his cast. At least he could scratch his legs. With the one hand that worked. Jack was miserable and his mother had sat him down next to her on the beach blanket and put an arm around his shoulders. He started to cry when his mother suggested she could help him build sandcastles. He didn’t want help. He wanted his arm to not be broken any more so he could do it himself. After a proper romp in the waves. His dad, clearly uncomfortable, made an excuse about making sure Kevin didn’t wander off or drown, headed into the water.

“Mo dhuine beag,” she said and ruffled his hair. She swayed gently with him. “I know you’re sad that you can’t play in the waves with your brother, or go for a swim. Your arm will get better, I promise. And we’ll come back here next summer when it’s all healed up, good as new. What do you think of that?”

Young Jack just shrugged and sniffed. That didn’t make it so he could swim now and that’s what he really wanted. That and to not be itchy.

“We’ll get fish and chips and we’ll get you a sundae as big as your head,” she said.

Jack did like a good sundae, and they were never big enough. He wiped his cheeks and nodded. “I’d like that, mommy.”

“Me too, Jack. Me too,” she said.

The memory paused there, he lingered on the itchy beach blanket in his mother’s arms, sand still stuck between his toes, and allowed himself to be comforted. The sounds of the beach faded away. Seagull squawking dulled, the sound of laughter shifted into the low sounds of people talking. The hand in his hair didn’t fade away with the memory. Was it real?

A different memory replaced the beach in his mind’s eye and he began to remember where he was again. And how he got here. His body felt like lead and his leg hurt, it wouldn’t budge and it hurt whenever he tried. And there was a hand, petting his hair. Why did he still remember that? He leaned in.

“Jack, it’s mum. Can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes, the room was bright he tried to track the sound of her voice. He hadn’t imagined her there, she was in his memory and now she was in the room. It was as if he’d summoned her. He tried to smile, he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t feel anything between his neck and his nose, it was like his mouth wasn’t there. All that came out was a confused moan. She smiled down at him, but she was crying. Why was she crying?

“I’m here, Jack. Don’t try to speak. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” she said. “And look, Martha’s here too.”

Martha seemed to slide into view, he felt strange still. As though being awake was something slippery and he didn’t have hands to hold onto it with. His hands didn’t move at all, they just seemed to hover at his sides, he tried to sit up and looked down the length of himself. There were pillows and blankets and wires and what the bloody hell was that thing on his leg? Of course, all that came out were more confused grunts.

“Don’t look down at that, don’t worry yourself over it,” his mom said. She put a hand on his cheek to divert his attention back to her again, but he could barely feel it. Did she not see the metal contraption stabbing into his leg? He tried to get a better look at it but couldn’t get past his mother to see it. “Just be still, you’re fine. Right Martha?”

“Absolutely, it’s good to see you Jack,” she said and smiled. He remembered what started this whole ordeal, and the contraption was forgotten, but he literally couldn’t form the words to ask her what needed to know. He tried to speak and failed. All he had was his eyes, and he couldn’t be sure it would work, he managed to summon his mother out of thin air by remembering her so he stared at Martha, still trying to make the words. So he thought them really loudly in the hope that his boss would catch on. His mother just tried to shush him.

“We found her Jack, Rosemary Parks is safe now, she’s alright.” Martha said and smiled. “I can’t say I approve of your method of getting yourself kidnapped, but it lead us straight to her and several others.”

Jack almost laughed but it came out as a toneless moan. Why couldn’t he feel his face? That asshole had only taken one tooth, he was sure of it. So why did it feel like he had no jaw? And now he was tired. Really tired. He couldn’t feel his face, but he did feel fingers through his hair, it was familiar. Safe. His eyes slipped closed again. Awareness slipped away and he was back on the beach in his mind. They had gone back a year later, just as his mother had promised. He ate the biggest sundae he’d ever seen, to hell with the belly ache that came with it. It was one of the best summers he’d had.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery and plot things continue.

That fucking cunt. Sloan was supposed to have his back, warn him when the authorities got too close. Not only had she failed to warn him, but she’d taken off to lord knows where with all of his money. It could have been a quick and dirty ten grand and now he was missing more than just that. Five years he’d worked tirelessly to cultivate his businesses, both legitimate and not. Had he just become too greedy? Or careless? Or was his downfall in trusting that bitch not to double cross him?

Alex slouched further in his seat and adjusted the elastic band of the grey track pants he was provided. They were the largest size they had, they said. Bollocks, he’d get zero comfort or fairness from any of these assholes. Not after what he’d done to one of their own. Though, technically he’d done nothing to that detective. Had barely even touched the fucker. But none of that mattered to them. He was well and truly fucked.

Sloan had erased any trace of where she’d buggered off to with all his money but she’d left everything else. The contacts, the CCTV footage all of it. She had even left footage from cameras he didn’t even know about. How long had she been planning to completely fuck him over, he wondered. She was every bit as guilty as he was. What right did she have to his money or freedom?

His lawyer was proving to be useless, but not entirely wrong. The evidence against him was overwhelming, she urged him to plead guilty to the abduction and trafficking charges. He needn’t cop to the GBH charge directly, but there was only so much a lawyer could do when there was recorded evidence of his role in the beating. Sloan had assured him that there would be no link between his legitimate business and the trafficking. Sloan lied to save her own ass. Alex would have done the same. But he was still going to offer up anything and everything to drag her down with him.

He would take a fall, there was no doubt about that, but he would take everyone down with him.

Fuck them all. And fuck Sloan in particular.

The young detective and his superior entered the room. Roscoe and Groves if he wasn’t mistaken. He’d declined to comment to either of them at first. Now he leaned forward in his seat, hands flat on the table.

“Gentlemen, I hope you’ve brought extra pens. I’ve quite a lot to say.”

 

The best summer vacation Jack had ever had faded away once more, reality slotting into place piece by piece. The memory of a hot fudge sundae was replaced by a truly awful taste in his mouth and the realization that he could feel it again at all. The whole thing was bitter, metallic, and throbbing slightly. There was something foreign and metal where his tooth used to be. He poked it with his tongue and regretted it.

“That looked like it hurt.” Jack opened his eyes and nodded. His mother hadn’t left, but her clothes were different. Weren’t they? How long had he been sleeping? “They put in a base for a crown, but it’s got to heal so don’t be poking at it.” She held out a paper cup of water. “Do you want a sip of water, love?”

“Yeah,” he said and moved to reach for the cup, but his hand was heavy with tape and splints and gauze. He looked down at both hands puzzled for a moment. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton batting and his hands didn’t work. The aural memory of a half dozen snapping sounds reminded him why.

“Here, let me help you,” Flora said and slipped her hand behind his head to help him drink. Both her hand and the water were cool. He felt the light chill of the water all the way down into his belly.

“Thanks mum.”

“How do you feel?” She asked.

“Mmmm. A bit weird, my head feels funny.” There was something stuck under his nose, he wiggled it and couldn’t dislodge it. He looked down again beyond his hands. There was a giant lump under a blanket where his leg should be. It didn’t move and he couldn’t rightly feel it. “What’s wrong with my leg?”

“It’s broken, hun. But the doctors are going to fix it.”

“Oh.” He said. A few bits of fluff cleared out, but he just stared at the lump under the blanket for a moment longer. It didn’t feel broken, he didn’t feel it at all. But he remembered bits and pieces of how it happened and, aspromptly as his medicated brain would allow, he tried to think of something else. There was something else, he tried to sit up a bit and looked around. “I need to piss.”

Flora smiled and settled him back down. “They tell me you have a catheter, you can’t get up just now.”

“A what?” He said, confused. Something didn’t quite feel right, he frowned. Why were all these things stuck in him? It didn’t feel right at all. Nor did just having a whizz while his mom was standing right there next to him. “Don’t watch me.”

She didn’t suppress a chuckle and turned around. “I can’t see it. You remember I changed your nappies, you know.”

“That was over thirty years ago.” He said. He waited, he didn’t have to piss anymore but it still felt strange. “I’m done, I think. I don’t like this.”

“I know, it’s going to be unpleasant for a bit, but we’ll get you through it, I promise.”

 

Charlie had seen the forensic photos of Jack and his injuries. She’d seen them up close and personal when they found him in the warehouse. Martha had only positive, but appropriate things to say about his condition. Martha was just as much in the business of managing expectations as she was in fighting crime. Charlie tried to put the images out of her mind, focus on her work. She would pop by the hospital later and put her worries aside. She needed to take a statement from Rosemary, no harm in sticking around for a bit longer while she was there to see how Jack was.

In the meantime, she would work.

A call came in to locate and apprehend a Mr. Dan Gordon. Their prime suspect seemed keen to take down as many of his cohorts as possible. Gordon was a social worker at a community works office in their borough. Despicable, she thought. A man who was supposed to help those in need with finding work and housing tipping off someone like Alex Vaughn so he could snatch them up for quick and easy sale.

Charlie had doubts that it would be as easy as visiting the community office and asking to speak with him. News of what was uncovered last night had not taken long to reach the news outlets. The guilty ran. Only an idiot would turn up for work the next day.

As Charlie walked into the street front office she found that Dan Gordon was in fact an idiot. Standing at the back of the office pouring himself a generous cup of coffee, chatting with a co-worker. He looked down the narrow hall and spotted Charlie, the police lanyard around her neck and in plain sight, the moron actually smiled and nodded. He carefully put down his java on the counter and then bolted for the rear exit.

Charlie sighed, she was far too tired for this bullshit. She chased after and radioed to the uniformed officer who had been waiting outside to circle around back in case he chose to try to make it back to the main road. A stupid move, but she didn’t appear to be dealing with a smart person.

Just outside the back door she heard a crash to the right. He hadn’t tried to circle around the building to the main road, choosing to pick his way through the alley and its assorted dumpsters. He’d slammed into one of them and staggered onward with a sloppy run and tried to jump over a gate to get back to the road. And he failed epically, one pant leg caught on the rail and he face planted on the other side. He was out of breath on the ground trying to free his pant leg when she caught up to him. Charlie had no idea of what this man thought living a life of crime would be like, but he certainly had no aptitude for getting away.

“Daniel Gordon, I am arresting you on suspicion of aiding and abetting the abduction of a minor,” she said and began to secure Mr. Gordon’s arms behind him. “You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

The man just grunted and nodded. The uniformed officer had made her way around the back and helped to detangle him and haul him from the cobblestones.

 

Martha was Jack’s colleague and a friend of the family, that wasn’t a secret, but now Jack was also a victim and despite her DCI’s reluctance, she was allowed to conduct the interviews with Fred Crawford and George Davies. They were unconnected with the human trafficking charges and there was enough personnel tied up in that circus. Martha was available and already familiar with the situation.

She had watched the footage of the incident. Watching it once was enough, but she would bring the tablet with her to show to her detainees should they find themselves unable to say anything more than “no comment.” She was almost certain that he had no idea he was being recorded at the time. The evidence was damming, this would be little more than taking a statement.

In the small, grey dim room across from a grey-clad, ginger-haired man and his solicitor, she set her note book, folio and tablet down on the table and quietly took a seat opposite Freddy Crawford. He rolled his eyes. Martha had done her homework, she knew the long list of misdemeanours and felonies he’d managed to avoid being convicted of. But not this time.

“Mr. Crawford, I am Detective Inspector Martha Bellamy, I will be conducting your interview today, Wednesday January 21. The time is 15:00 hours. If you could please state your full name for the recording.”

He sighed heavily. “Frederick James Horace Crawford.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawford. Now let’s begin with you telling me how you’ve come to know Alexander Vaughn.”

“No comment.”

“Do you know Alexander Vaughn?” She repeated, give him a chance to be truthful.

“No comment.”

“On to your whereabouts then. Tell me about the warehouse, how did you come to be there last night?”

He folded his arms across his chest, she wondered if he would have the gaul to lie. He had been caught, literally red handed over a newly-deceased Paul Stevens. His solicitor nodded, pen poised. “I was at home for the most part, I had dinner with my wife. Steak, greens.”

“And after dinner, Mr. Crawford? We both know you eventually made your way to the warehouse on Prince St.” She asked. He was going to draw it out. That was fine, he could try, but Martha was hardly new to this.

“I received a text message from a colleague, an urgent business matter to attend to,” he said and sneered. He was just taunting her now. 

“And the name of this colleague?”

“I don’t remember,” he said and smiled. “I deleted the text afterwards. Why? Was that important?”

“Our tech team are quite savvy, I’m sure it won’t be a problem to locate it again. I’m curious though as to what sort of urgent business matter on a Tuesday evening requires the use of a cricket bat,” she said and pulled a photo of the item from her folder. It still had quite a bit of blood along the edge of it.

“No comment.”

“Mr. Crawford, your DNA is all over the handle of this weapon. As is the DNA of Paul Stevens around the business end. Several witnesses found you poised over Mr. Stevens’ remains. So I would like to repeat my question, what urgent business were you attending to in a private warehouse with a cricket bat?”

“You know what sort of deviant pervert that man was?” He said. The disgust breaking through the calm level answers he’d given so far. “Of course you know what he was, your lot put him in prison. Fucking child molester, the world’s better off without him and you know it. No one would really fault me for that.”

“Fault you for what?” Martha asked, gotcha.

“No comment.”

Martha sighed and pulled out more photographs from the folder, forensic photos of Jack’s injuries, and laid them out side by side. He looked over the photos briefly, pushed them back towards her. “Mr. Crawford do you know of or remember Detective Sargent Jack Weston?”

“Don’t recall. Awful shame, what happened to him,” he said. The absence of sincerity was palpable.

“Indeed, he has quite a long road to recovery ahead of him. I wanted to ask you about this particular injury here,” she said and slid the photo of Jack’s leg back across the table to him. There was an unsightly bruise and a wound, stitched shut on one side pins stuck into the leg at different angles. “My apologies it’s an unpleasant image to look at, but do you have any idea how that particular injury might have occurred?”

“Not a clue.”

“Were you not present at the time?”

“No comment.”

“Our forensic examiner has determined it’s an injury consistent with a blunt force trauma, an instrument with a defined, straight edge, like a cricket bat. So I’d like to ask you again, do you know how that might have happened?”

“That’s an interesting theory Detective Inspector. Very interesting. I can’t help you though, I didn’t lay hand on your colleague.”

“No that’s true you didn’t,” she said and set up the tablet, cueing up the surveillance video of the beating. “Mr. Crawford I’d like to show you a short video that might help explain some of DS Weston’s injuries. Have a look there.” She pointed at the screen at Freddy Crawford with his cricket bat about to swing wide and high, what might have been a fatal blow, she paused it there. Freddy did his best to appear calm, but there was an under current of panic in the room now. “Who’s that fellow there with the bat? Is that you?”

“Might be, looks a bit like me.”

“And this fellow next to you, that’s Alexander Vaughn, since you seem to have trouble remembering him. And seated there is DS Weston. That looks like quite the blow about to be delivered.” She resumed the video and braced herself for the audio that accompanies it. “But I’m sure you’re thankful that you were persuaded to aim lower. One murder charge is quite enough, don’t you think? Would you like a bit more time to think about your statement, Mr. Crawford?”

 

The bed he couldn’t leave became the centre of Jack’s universe. Everyone came to him, but he didn’t go anywhere, he was stationery, stuck in one place. Not even if he had to piss. Nurses came and went, kept asking him his name and birthdate, changing bandages or fiddled with the machinery. Taking notes and blood samples. As if he hadn’t lost enough already. He looked away whenever the blanket was lifted from his leg. The more the fog in his mind cleared the less he wanted to see it. His mother came and went, but never too far. A surgeon had come by to talk to him about how they were going to set the bones his leg.

He had options, but the one that seemed to unsettle his stomach the most was the best choice. The idea of a piece of metal in his leg didn’t sit right with him, but the idea that he’d be able to walk about sooner certainly had appeal. That and the lack of a need for a cast. He never wanted to have another itchy plaster cast for as long as he lived. After some thought he agreed, signed a consent form, he hadn’t been prepared for them to do it that very evening. Another surgery was the last thing he wanted right now. And he’d had all day to think about it.

“You know I’ll still be here when you come out,” his mom said.

“Nah, it’ll be late. You should get some sleep, go home. You can’t spend all your time here.”

“I can and I will if I choose. I told you the very same thing all those years ago and did you listen to me? No, you didn’t. And I was grateful for it.”

“And I nearly failed my exams. I should have listened.”

“You turned out alright,” she said and smiled. “You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

Jack tried to shift slightly under the blanket, the bed was upright but it did nothing to relieve the pressure on his backside. “Could be worse then I suppose. I am hungry though, do you think they’d let me eat anything? Maybe you could smuggle something in in your purse.”

“I don’t know, mo dhuine beag. Should I find a nurse and ask?”

“You haven’t called me that since I was a boy, I’m hardly little anymore.”

“That hardly matters, sit tight. I’ll find a nurse.”

Sit tight, as if he had a choice. He shifted under the blanket again, moving the only appendage that wasn’t bandaged or broken or fixed to something else. That he couldn’t even sit up properly was starting to get on his nerves and he was about ready to try to work the buttons on the bed rail with his elbow.

There was a soft knock on the open door, he looked up from the rail and smiled.

“Charlie,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“I came to take a statement from Rosemary. She’s two floors down. And I wanted to see how you’re getting on,” she said and approached the bedside. She avoided looking at the mass of gadgetry under the blanket.

“Rosemary Parks is here? How is she? Was she alright?”

“She’s fine, the doctors looked after her and she’s alright. She’s with her uncle, a bit ofa reunion that was.”

“Really? I didn’t think she had any family.”

“A lot’s happened since you were… taken.” She said settling on the tamest word to describe his ordeal. Kidnapped, abducted, beaten within an inch of his life. All would have done just as well. He wasn’t going to say it either.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he said and chuckled, there was no joy in it. “Fill me in, what’s happened?”

“Jack you know I can’t, not now.”

“C’mon, I’m fucking bored. I’d settle for office gossip at this point.”

“No one’s had time for office gossip I’m afraid.” She remained tight lipped. “You’re looking much better than when I last saw you.” She said and finally looked down at his leg tried not to look at his hands, most of the fingers were taped together and fixed to splints. He had both thumbs and the pinky on his left hand free from bandages so he could scratch his nose, but not much else. The reality of how long it would take for Jack to get back to work, if at all, started to dawn on her. Jack had avoided thinking about that entirely. Knowing he’d be walking again in a few months was helpful. “How are you feeling, Jack?”

“I ache in all the places you’d expect, but the drugs are good. I can barely feel my leg.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Fucking yes. I never want to feel pain like that again. They’re going to hammer a giant metal rod into it later today. I’m not sure which is better. I don’t want to even look at that contraption and I can’t wait to be rid of it, but the alternative isn’t much better.”

“Sorry luv, the nurse said you could have water or juice, but — Oh, hello.” His mom stopped short just inside the doorway she had a plastic cup of golden liquid in her hand. It looked like apple juice and his stomach turned a little.

“Mum, this is DC Charlie Steele, my work partner. Charlie meet my mother, Flora.”

His mom turned on what charm hadn’t been wrung from her by the last 48 hours and smiled. She put the juice down on the bed table and reached out to shake Charlie’s hand. His mother wasn’t a tall woman by any means, and neither was Charlie, but next to her his mother looked comically short.

“Pleasure to meet you Charlie, despite the circumstances.”

“Charlie was the first person I recognized in that warehouse, after…”

“Was she now?” She said bulldozing over what his pause implied. She still hadn’t let go of Charlie’s hand. “Bless you, dear. Bless you for finding my boy.”

“It was a group effort, Mrs. Weston, but you are welcome. I should be getting back to the station though,” Charlie said and finally freed her hands from his mother’s grip.

“Probably just as well,” his mom said. “The nurse tells me he’s going up stairs in about an hour to get ready for surgery.”

“Already?” He said. One of the monitors gave an extra beep, betraying his calm exterior.

“It seems so, luv.”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Jack.” Charlie said.

“Of course he will.”

“Easy for you two to say,” Jack said.

“Good luck, Jack.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I honestly never expected this to get this far. Still not sure where it ends. Keep reading if you like.

Freddy Crawford was still in a holding cell stewing. He hadn’t denied his role in the death of Paul Stevens, but he had yet to say a word about what he’d done to Jack. He hardly needed to. There was fairly solid evidence of that.

Mr. Davies was just as unaware of the footage. Martha had watched all of it and it was no easy feat. In the court of public opinion it might matter that she was interviewing suspects who had harmed a colleague, but any police officer who had witnessed what had actually happened could be just as biased whether they knew Jack Weston or not. And just about everyone in this building knew Jack. He could be charismatic and personable and no one at the station was immune. A number of the officers and staff here had shared a cup of tea or a pint with him and the team after hours.

Special treatment would be hard to come by for Freddy Crawford and George Davies.

Once again Martha sat across from her quarry clad in a grey track suit. She set down her folio, her notes and a tablet.

"Mr. Davies, I am Detective Inspector Martha Bellamy, I will be conducting your interview today, Wednesday January 21. The time is 19:00 hours. If you could please state your full name for the recording.”

Davies just sat there and stared at her from across the table. A smirk barely contained. His solicitor cleared her throat.

“George Richard Davies.”

“Thank you Mr. Davies.” She said. She pulled out a photograph of the handgun that had been taken from him at the scene in the warehouse. “We’ve yet to find a permit for this weapon. Would you like to explain how it came to be in your hands?”

“No comment.”

“Does it belong to you?”

“No comment.”

Typical. Martha was only slightly less concerned with how he’d obtained the gun than she was with what he intended to do with it. It had been pointed at Freddy Crawford when they’d come on the scene. If they’d entered just a few minutes later where else would it have been pointed?

“How do you know Alexander Vaughn?”

“No comment.”

“So you just happened to find yourself in a warehouse with Alexander Vaughn with a loaded gun by pure circumstance?”

Davies’ solicitor had her pen poised should her client actually speak, but it was clear that she had coached him to provide no comments at this time. George leaned forward slightly.

“No. Comment.” He said and smiled.

“Mr. Davies I’d like to show you a short video, just a clip,” Martha said and cued up the video that she needed, just before Davies steps up to assault Jack, before hitting play. “Were you aware that your little session was being recorded?”

“Shit, what?” Davies said. He almost let his mask slip. His solicitor leaned in to watch as well.

“There’s you Mr. Davies in the corner. This poor gentleman here in the chair is our Detective Sargent Jack Weston. Now, I know you know who he is, he’s cautioned and arrested you more than once. Do you know who else is in this scene here?”

“No idea,” he said.

“This stout fellow is Alexander Vaughn, just in case you’d forgotten him. This tall ginger fellow is Fred Crawford and the balding man in the suit in the background is Paul Stevens. Do you know these men?”

“Never seen them before,” he said and looked Martha right in the eye. Daring her to look away. She didn’t, she pressed play.

Martha didn’t need to actually watch the video again. It was enough to have to hear it. Davies watched it though. He seemed unaffected by it. The sound of his own voice and the unmistakable shouting of someone who’s just had most of their fingers bent out of shape. Davies just nodded and said nothing. He sat back in his seat.

“Your boy’s got a set of lungs on him don’t he?”

“I’d think anyone would in that situation, Mr. Davies.” Martha said. She moved the video ahead to several minutes before the tactical team entered. “Now I have several more questions about what’s happening here, if you’d be so kind.”

She pressed play.

 

It had been the fastest hour Jack had ever experienced. It was almost as if the moment Charlie left he found himself on a different floor of the hospital all together. And sporting what looked like a flimsy showering cap to contain his hair which had surely become unwieldy by now. He hadn’t seen it in days and didn’t care much either way.

And now he was just waiting. His mom had been left waiting outside the double doors to the suite of operating theatres, much to her chagrin. It was just himself and a nurse, Monique as per the name tag, waiting in what felt like a holding pen for surgery. Like an air plane waiting to taxi onto the runway. The anticipation wasn’t all that different from waiting for take off, a little more anxious maybe. By then it’s too late to get off the plane. Right now it’s too late to change his mind.

The nurse kept an eye on the various machines wired to him and tried to be reassuring with a smile here and there, but she was definitely focused on her work.

“It’s perfectly normal to be a bit nervous,” she said.

“I’m not, not really,” he lied. She was intently monitoring his vital signs, of course she knew he was lying. So he played it cool, and failed. “I’m just trying not to think about it. Easier said than done.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’re not likely to remember this part in great detail afterwards. You’ll be just fine. Dr. Bayley has a top surgical team. And Dr. Cleary will look after you through the whole procedure and afterwards. We’re going to take excellent care of you, I promise.”

“I know, still not looking forward to it.” Jack said. He’d already met the anaesthetist, Dr. Cleary. A kind, soft-spoken, older gentleman. Irish. Jack tried to take that as a good sign. He’d asked Jack several questions and did a good job of not admonishing him when he learned that Jack had only quit smoking again for the nth time a little over a month ago.

The door swung open behind him and closed softly.

“Mr. Weston. Jack,” it was Dr. Cleary, he smiled down at him. “Are you about ready then?”

Jack nodded, it was another lie. But what choice did he have at this point?

The nurse handed over a clipboard and nodded. Dr. Cleary hummed and made noises of approval reading it over. “Good, good. You’re doing great, Jack. Any last minute questions?”

“Nah, let’s just get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit. Monique is giving you something now to help you relax and fall asleep. This metal contraption round your leg will be gone when you wake up. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” he said. He felt a heavy warmth starting to spread over him. He frowned maybe it wasn’t good. Was it all just in his head? Or was the room actually going in and out of focus? He tried to sit up and focus on something. Anything.

“Just take some deep breaths and try to relax.”

This was it, he thought, the scary part was over, but now his brain felt a little strange, but he couldn’t panic. “How long does it take to … to wor…”

“About that long,” Dr. Cleary said.

 

Dan Gordon had turned out to be a truly despicable person. A man too easily bought and sold. He held a position of trust, he had a duty of care towards his clients. People he had claimed he wanted to help. And he had been feeding them to the likes of Alexander Vaughn to be bought, sold and traded for profit. Oh, he claimed that he didn’t know what was happening to them. That he thought they were be recruited for jobs that were on the up and up. That they’d be taken care of and properly looked after.

Which was absolute codswallop. If he was truly that naive he wouldn’t have run the second she walked into the office. He ‘no commented” his way through the interview once a solicitor showed up and even then he had nothing official to say beyond his initial claim of ignorance.

Charlie stabbed at the up arrow on the treadmill once more. And then again for good measure to pick up the pace and ran at a steady clip. She had ended her day with interviewing that man and now she needed an outlet. Even through all of her exhaustion, the lack of sleep over the past week, the stress. She still needed this. She would cry over a pint later. For now there was Daft Punk, a treadmill, and a nearly empty gym.

She did her best to push the thought out of her head that Jack wouldn’t be able to do this ever again. Tried to replace it with the notion that he might again, but not for a long while. It was better than the alternatives. To say it had been a shit week would be putting it lightly. Her partner was, for lack of a better word, crippled. She ran for herself and she ran for his sake. She’d arrested, questioned and read about some truly horrible people.

She turned up her volume a few notches.

Those who abused their duty of care were the ones that seemed to get to her.

The Brainwasher thumped in her ear and she matched the beat with every stride. She found a way to run faster.

People in a position of trust ultimately abusing it for their own gain. Profit or otherwise, just got her blood pressure up.

Until suddenly the song ended, throwing her pace off.

Fucking wankers.

Play list ended, she had no more fuel to keep her going. So she walked to cool down.

There had been good. They had found so many missing people. Missing people that were now reunited with their family and friends. Rosemary had something resembling a family again. So many people had their freedom tonight, even if recovery from such an ordeal would take time. Social services would have their work cut out for them. She had pushed and worked and she had found Jack. She hadn’t found him soon enough, but she had done the leg work.

Charlie cringed internally at the use of the term leg work, even in her own head. Jack wasn’t bleeding and dazed anymore when she visited him in the hospital, but he was in a bad way, and it would be a long time before he could come back to active duty. Jack had been away before, suspended, and it hadn’t exactly been easy working short handed, but was fine during that time. It was finite, she knew he would come back, a date mentally circled on a calendar. And maybe he was a little pissed, but not broken. Not crippled. She’d had to pick up the slack then. But this was more than just a forced vacation. This was going to take much longer and she wondered how much longer she’d be on her own before someone was assigned to take his place.

Jack could be arrogant and difficult to work with, but he had his charms and he was smart, almost uncannily. Irritatingly so. He had good instincts. She’d learned a lot from him and right now couldn’t welcome anyone else in that position. She didn’t want anyone else sitting at the desk across from hers. It would feel wrong. Too soon.

And on that melancholy note, Charlie hopped off the treadmill and headed for the locker room. There would be a pint waiting for her at home to drown her sorrows in.

 

Something close by was beeping, but it sounded like it had forgotten how to beep. It faded in and out and sometimes just seemed to beep one long beep. Beeeeeeeep. Did that mean he was dead? It was dark after all, but why did being dead smell like a hospital? And there were people talking. One eye slipped open, nope. Not dead. He tried to test the theory further.

The other eye opened closed at the brightness of the room. He lifted a hand, there was an itch on the tip of his nose. The hand seemed to take forever to reach his face and when it did there was a thump where his bandaged fingers met his face, but the itch didn’t go away. He couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t working until he opened his eyes again and looked at his hand. Was it broken? When did that happen? He had a thumb free, but that didn’t work either. He squinted at his thumb.

His hand fell back onto the blanket and a face came into view. Dark skin, dark hair. Charlie? Why would Charlie be here right now?

“Hi, can you tell me your name?” She asked.

He thought about it a moment. “Jack.” He winced, his throat was sore.

“Very good. Do you remember my name, Jack?”

He squinted at her face and tried to focus. No, she wasn’t Charlie. He shook his head.

“I’m Monique, I was with you before your surgery. Do you remember?”

“Not really,” he croaked. Surgery, he’d had a surgery. That was right. He’d forgotten about that. “My throat… I don’t like it.”

She looked away briefly and then back. “We can take this mask away now, yeah?”A rush ofhospital smell hit his airway, it smelled really clean. He hoped it was clean. The mask explained why he couldn’t scratch his nose, which he did now absently. The woman smiled down at him while she worked out of sights. A plastic tube came up to his nose and he tried to follow it with his eyes the whole way, but the scenery around him sort of shifted. Was she picking his nose?

“Are you picking my nose?” He said. The words seemed to fall out of his head. She laughed.

“You’re a funny guy. This is to help you get a little more oxygen. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Will it make me funnier?”

“It might. It might not. How do you feel Jack?”

“I feel funny,” he said and winced again at his throat. Words seemed to be a challenge. “Not the funny funny, just kind of funny.”

“That’ll pass. How about we get you a bit of ice to eat?”

He nodded. He blinked a few times and she disappeared, maybe he slept, it was hard to keep track of what his brain was doing, it felt like it was stuffed full of wet cotton. And he was cold. And then just like that the woman returned.

“Do I know you?” He asked.

“Yes, you do. I’m Monique, I’m your nurse.”

Jack smiled. “Oh yeah.” His nurse, that made sense. “Hi Monique. I’m Jack.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jack,” she said and smiled. She held up a spoon with some crushed bits of ice on it. He stared at it. “Do you want a bit of ice? It will help your throat feel better.”

The spoon moved slowly closer to his mouth. Part of his brain seemed alarmed at anything coming at him, but another part recognized the plastic spoon as harmless and then forgot what he was panicking about. He parted his lips and the ice slipped over his tongue.

“Mmm. Ice is cold,” he said. She was right, it made his throat feel less like it was made of sand paper. Now it just ached.

“Yes, it is.” She said and held out a bit more for him, which he happily took. “Is it helping?”

He nodded. She turned away and he followed her gaze, or tried to until an older man appeared. He looked like a nice person.

“How are you feeling Jack?” He said. Jack’s face lit up, he smiled. He had no idea why.

“I feel a bit funny funny. Do I know you?”

“You do, I’m Dr. Cleary. Feeling a bit funny is normal, there’s still some anaesthetic in your system, but that will pass,” he said. “Are you comfortable? Any pain?”

Jack thought about this for a moment, should he be in pain? Why would he be in pain? He felt pretty great even if ideas seemed kind of hard to hold onto. Like why he liked this man. Had he asked him a question? He was staring.

“Any pain at all?”

Jack shook his head. And then realized why he liked this man. “You’re like me!”

The man just smiled politely. “I’m like you am I? How’s that?”

Jack frowned and thought about this for a second or two. There was a word he needed, but it wouldn’t form. It was important. The man had looked away and was talking to the nurse whose name Jack had already forgotten. None of what he said made any sense, but all of it _sounded_ right. And then it hit him. “Your words are like mine.”

He smiled and chuckled. “That’s right. I’m Irish, just like you.”

“Poor man has no filter. We’re having a state the obvious contest and he’s winning by a long shot.”

“I’m winning,” Jack said. He had no idea what game they were playing at.

“Good for you, Jack. Try to get a bit more rest, you’re doing great, okay? Monique’s going to look after you. You just listen to her and you’ll be alright.”

“Okay, boss.”

 

Jack had done exactly as he was told. He had a bit more ice and then some juice. He’d done his best to answer his nurses’s questions, even if only some of them made sense. And then it was nap time. Not since he was a child had nap time sounded like such a good idea. And when he woke he found himself on the move and a little confused.

“Am I going home?” He asked, some of the brain fog had yet to clear.

“Sorry hun, not yet.” The nurse said. He knew her, didn’t he? Monica or something. Mona? He tried to get a look at her name tag, focus on it while the whole gurney and the people moving it shifted round a corner. Monique, right. “The orthopaedic ward is going to have be home for a few more days at least. You’ve got a good group of neighbours I hear.”

“My neighbours are here? I don’t even like most of them.”

Monique laughed, one of the orderlies chuckled.

“Still the funny guy, eh Jack.”

“Am I?” He said.

The gurney shifted once again and into a ward with beds and curtains on each side. They moved through, passing curtain after curtain, almost to the end of it where there was an empty bed with clean sheets.

“Here we are, home sweet home.”

Monique started shifting things about and a third person in scrubs came in to help move him over. Jack looked over at the empty bed and then down at his leg, propped up on pillows, he couldn’t feel it just yet. At least it was still attached, even if it looked impossibly large, like it couldn’t possibly be his. On the count of three he found himself lifted and shifted, just like that, like they were experts. He expected it to hurt, his leg bounced gently on the pillows under it, but he felt no pain. Or anything, really.

So this was going to be home, he thought. There was a window not far off at the end of the ward. With the bed curtain open he could just make out a bit of the top of Tower Bridge while he was sat up. How high up was he? Pillows were tucked under various parts of him, under his hands and behind him. He turned down an extra blanket, he was more than warm enough. A bit more of the brain fog started to clear.

“This is where I leave you, Jack.” Monique said and nodded to the woman older woman now reading over his chart. She looked up and smiled. “In Helen’s capable hands. She’s in charge around here. Listen to her and she’ll make sure you’re looked after.”

“Jack Weston, you know I think we have a visitor for you already. You’re going to be a popular one aren’t you?”

“That would be my mother. She’d have found her way in to supervise the surgery if she could. Love her to bits, but can you tell her I’m still asleep or something? I think I need a moment.”

Helen smiled. “I’ll let her sit another twenty minutes or so, let you get comfortable and settled. How’s that?”

Jack nodded and relaxed into the mattress and the pillows a bit further. It wasn’t so bad, so far. He had a view and for now it was quiet. He would take what he could get.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's mom is a sweetheart.

A grey morning slowly cleared as did the rest of the fog in Jack’s mind. He drifted in and out looking out the window as the sky brightened and shifted from slate grey to white with spots of blue. It had remained pretty quiet on the ward. He had tuned out the complaints and the moans and conversation and stared out the window. It took his mind off of things, away from his present reality.

It was just a blue sky.

The sky, even with the just the bits of London skyline along the bottom, didn’t demand his attention. It was not his battered leg, swollen to an unreal size. It was not his mangled fingers, bound with elastic bandages, gauze, and hard plastic. It wasn’t the various leads and tubes stuck to him. It wasn’t the gap between his back teeth, or the aching he felt everywhere else or the leg he couldn’t even feel. A view of the skyline under blue sky wasn’t the long road of recovery ahead that he had successfully avoided thinking about. Mostly. It wasn’t bed rest or therapy. It did not ask questions, it did not poke or prod or require anything from him. It did not worry, it did not fuss.

It was just a blue sky.

But like any blue sky in January it did not last. Reality would not be ignored. And neither would his mother. She stood now, quietly at the end of the bed and sighed.

She had at least changed her clothes, she’d gone home that much was evident. He had asked her to go, and the staff here wouldn’t let her stay over night anyway. Whether or not she’d slept was another matter. She looked tired and she was clutching a large take-away tea cup in both hands. She set it down on the bedside cabinet next to the alcohol swabs, bottles, bandages and a metal basin.

“How are you, love? Are you comfortable?” She asked. She took a few casual glances towards his leg propped up on a plateau of pillows.

“I can’t even feel it, don’t worry. Did you sleep, mum?”

“Here and there,” she said. No point in lying to her son the detective even if he was indefinitely off duty. “You know I’ll worry whether you tell me to or not. Mother’s prerogative.”

Jack held back a sigh and glanced out the window again. It appeared to be lightly snowing now, so much for blue sky.

“You’ve got a lovely view, lucky that you managed to get a spot by the window at least.”

“Lucky would be me at home asleep with all my bones intact. Or at the station working my tiny portion of a major case. Not laid up with a giant fucking nail hammered into my leg. I can’t get up to take a piss and I can’t use my hands to piss into a jug or even feed myself, but yeah, the view is nice, I guess.”

Flora blinked. And that’s when he realized he had still had no filter and and now he also had no patience.

“Sorry. Jesus, mom. I’m sorry. I’m just…off. Not in a great mood.” He said. “You should have come earlier while I was still high.”

“I don’t expect you to be in high spirits, just mind your language. This is a hospital.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with - you know what, never mind.” Jack had long ago stopped trying to figure out his mother’s logic when it came to swear words and where they couldn’t be uttered. Which was almost everywhere because someone might hear it. As if no one had ever heard the word ‘fuck’ before. He was Irish and a cop, it was almost a birthright.

“Do you want me to stay? I could help you with breakfast.” She said and then straightened her posture. Braced for disagreement. “I saw someone coming round with trays on my way in. That is if you’re not too proud to have your old mum feed you. I suppose it’s either got to be me or one of the nurses and I’m sure they’ve got too many things to do already.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense, you have to eat, keep your strength up.”

Jack looked down at his hands, each one resting comfortably, but almost entirely immobilized. A pinky with a monitor clip on it was hardly useful for anything. And one thumb wiggled a bit, enough to scratch his nose, but not much else. George Davies had prevented Jack from doing more than just paperwork. The end game had always been about Jack’s demise, which hadn’t happened in a literal sense, but the best part of being alive: independence, was indefinitely suspended. He looked out the window which stubbornly refused to show him a blue sky.

He would blame it on the drugs, or fatigue or say he was in pain if anyone else were there next to him when a couple of tears slipped out. His mom knew him better than that. She touched his shoulder lightly.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Jack still looked out the window, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

 

A few news outlets were still buzzing a bit about the human trafficking ring that had been uncovered as more information came to light. Of course there was much more to it then what the media were given, detail they did not need for the sake of the victims’ privacy, such as the real reason Jack had been abducted. Pulling into the lot at the back of the station Martha had heard enough and hit the mute button.

This case had been all she’d been able to think about in the last week and it was invading her home and her commute to work as well. She’d told Daisy that Jack was going to be okay, when she asked. Of course she’d seen the news and the appeal for both Rosemary and Jack. And as far as Martha knew Jack _was_ going to be just fine. It would take time, but he would be fine. Martha was determined to wait for a recovery time line before looking into finding a replacement, or before someone higher up made that decision for her.

Martha had watched the video from start to finish more times than she would have liked, which is to say not at all. She’d read the interview transcript with Alex Vaughn. It had been a crime of opportunity. There had been no plan or forethought. The man saw an opportunity to turn a profit and did not care one jot about the human life that might be ruined or ended to accomplish it. The abduction was one thing, Jack was strong. But everything that followed? She had no idea how he’d recover from that and tried not to assume that he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t.

She didn’t want to entertain the possibility that Jack might not want to come back to work, she dismissed it almost as soon as the idea popped into her head. Jack was far too stubborn, that much she would bet on. Police work was in his blood. But if she was going to be sensible and practical as his boss, as detective inspector, she would have to acknowledge the possibility. As a friend she would much rather lose Jack to a promotion than this.

Charlie was already in and wading through paperwork when Martha arrived, walking down the corridor to her office, she tried not to notice the empty spot across from Charlie. There was still an empty tea cup next to the phone and an empty packet of ginger snaps, both untouched. As if everyone had assumed he’d come back for it. She was not the only one who assumed and hoped that he would come back. She had a tray of take-away tea in her hand for herself and for Charlie, she almost ordered one for Jack, but stopped herself.

“Morning Charlie, how’re you doing?” She said and set the cup down on Charlie’s desk.

“Oh, brilliant thank you. Just fine, Boss. You? Get any sleep?”

“About as much as you’d expect.” She said and took a healthy sip of Earl Grey. “What are you working on? Any news?”

“Forensics has sent up their findings from the warehouse, there should be a copy of the report in your inbox. I’m just putting the pieces together to finish up the paperwork for the abduction of Rosemary Parks. Still working on paperwork for Mr. Stevens for your approval. No news from the hospital yet. I know that Jack had surgery last night, but no word yet on when he’ll be fit for interview to collect his statement.”

“Good work, I’ll see what I can find out about Jack, see how he’s doing. Though the sooner we can slot his statement into the paperwork the sooner we can wrap it up. No word on the whereabouts of Jacqueline Sloan yet?”

“TIU are still going through all of her gear from the warehouse, still no sign of where she might have gone, crafty that one, but they’re still working on that. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Probably half way around the world by now, smart little cookie. Major Crimes will probably be all over that interview, but what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall of that conversation.”

“Right?” Charlie said. “On the one hand she’s implicit in numerous serious crimes, but on the other she served up everyone on a silver platter by recording them. It looks like she saved everything. I want to shake her senseless and then thank her for her services before locking her in a cell.”

“I do wonder what finally put her over the edge,” Martha said. “TIU certainly has their work cut out for them. We’ll find her. And if we don’t, INTERPOL will. There’s a media appeal scheduled for this afternoon, see if we can get a little help tracking her down. Let me know if you have anything and I’ll do the same.”

Martha unlocked the bright blue door of her office and set her things down. She glanced at the phone on her desk. It was already blinking with messages, it never seemed to stop.

Taking a statement from Jack was the part of this whole debacle that she least looked forward to. She could try to make the case that it was unnecessary given that much of his experience was recorded on video, but the abduction wouldn’t. And he deserved to have his story told, for the record. She would call up to the hospital in the afternoon.

Even if he wasn’t ready for an interview, she wouldn’t mind seeing how he was getting on. She’d last seen him dazed and bruised and unable to speak. She was his superior officer, but also a friend and letting that image sit in her mind as the last known state of him didn’t sit well at all.

 

Breakfast had been entirely unsatisfying, Jack learned. He’d been assigned a special diet, which he loathed the moment it was presented to him. High-calcium foods jam packed with nutrients, most of them soft or liquid. Fucking cottage cheese. He _hated_ cottage cheese.

And he really hadn’t been hungry so by the time he had managed to suffer through “just a few bites” of everything on the tray he was feeling quite the opposite of hungry and put the basin to good use. When lunch arrived he was feeling no more peckish than he did earlier. A nurse promised him that the anti-emetic would work and that he _needed_ to eat. She meant business. There would be no escaping whatever awaited him next meal time. Even if that meal tried to escape him.

Jack had been lucky. Aside from the time he’d spent in hospital as a boy for his broken arm, he’d never really spent time in one as a patient. He’d spent far more time in hospitals talking to victims than he’d ever wanted to spend as a patient. And now it seemed like he might even the score. He was going to have to prove he could walk about on crutches before they’d let him out and with two hands full of broken fingers that was going to prove challenging.

He had no idea just how eventful the ward would be. He’d had breakfast. He’d had help relieving himself, the catheter was gone, but the alternative of peeing into a bottle was somehow even less dignified. A nurse came by what seemed like every 30 minutes to ask him his name and how he was feeling, if he was comfortable or in pain, did he need to relieve himself? Feeling for pulses, pinching his toes and asking him to wiggle them (which he couldn’t do just yet). Making adjustments and fiddling with the IV slowly dripping morphine into his arm. This was all on top of the ever-present banter between patients who had already been there a while.

And then there was his mom who had started to chat with the other patients. She could charm the scales off a snake. It was no surprise that she’d started joining the conversations around her. Jack’s neighbour to the left, Gerard, had taken a keen interest in her and vice versa. By the time Jack had suffered through most of a late lunch the curtain between them had been pushed all the way back to the wall.

Gerard was about his mother’s age, he’d had a similar surgery to Jack, but in the hip and femur. He was a Canadian living abroad and found her accent positively delightful. So she played it up just to get a blush out of him. Pretty ballsy, flirting with his mum right there in front of him. On the other hand she’d been alone for a long time. There was no harm in it, and if it made his mother smile, all the better.

As it turned out Gerard had been mad enough to try cycling to work after a snow fall. Being from a country where winter lasts half the year, he barely batted an eye at the snow they might get in London. None of that cockiness stopped him from sliding, skidding and then crashing sideways into a curb at speed, snapping his femur just below the hip.

Jack tuned out a good portion of their conversation after that, not to be rude, but because sometimes concentrating was hard. He could blame the morphine for that. So he looked out the window, tried to seem interested in the conversation, but mostly failed. He looked down at his feet under the blanket, making two uneven tents under the bedding. Or an uneven mountain range of blue flannel. He tried to concentrate on wiggling his toes, but they wouldn’t budge.

“… and then I said that’s not a gargoyle that’s my dog!” Gerard and Flora erupted into laughter until one of the nurses near by shot them a look to keep it down. “Sorry, sorry. Oh, that dog was an ugly little thing, but Bud had a heart of gold, y’know?”

Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the prelude to that anecdote was. Under the blanket, under the gown, under the bandages, Jack started to feel a tingle. The nerve block had felt strange at first and he didn’t like it, but now he didn’t want it to stop. It was too soon. His thigh muscle quivered.

“Ah, woah. Hmm.” Jack tried to sit up further it didn’t help.

“What is it, love?” Flora asked. “Should I call the nurse over?

“I can feel my leg again, it’s weird. Doesn’t hurt.”

“It will,” Gerard offered and pushed his own call button. It wasn’t as though Jack could access his easily. “Trust me. You’ll want get ahead of it while you can.”

“You mean the morphine won’t — ah…cover it?” Jack asked. A cramp started to settle in.

“It didn’t for me at least. I wish I’d known how quickly the block would wear off at the time. Didn’t say anything until it ached and by then it was too late. I’ll spare you the trouble.”

 

Gerard hadn’t been wrong. Thankfully by the time Marcus, one of the nurses, had come round with a little something extra for the pain his leg was just starting to ache. A couple of green and white tablets stopped it from getting worse, which Jack was thankful for even if it made him feel a bit sick. He had some peace and quiet to sit with the queasy stomach. His mom had finally been convinced to go out side, get a bit of fresh air. He told her he was just going to sleep anyway and Gerard had a visit from a physiotherapist and had gone off on a hobble down the corridor and back.

Jack had dozed here and there, nursing staff had a way of making a solid block of sleep difficult to come by. A bit of blue sky revealed itself out the window, but didn’t last long. At least his mom got a bit of sunshine. She had not wanted to go, he all but begged her to go. Just for a bit. Go for a walk, get some fresh air and sunshine if she could find it. Played to her sentimental side, asked her to do it for him. And off she went. There was no telling how long she’d actually stay out for.

The sound of rubber wheel chair tires on the linoleum signalled the end of his peace and quiet. He considered trying to pretend to be asleep, but he’d already made eye contact with Gerard as he was wheeled back to his bed. Jack looked out the window while the poor man grunted and was manhandled back into his bed, waited for him to catch his breath.

“I almost made it this time,” he said. “I got three steps shy of the end of the corridor before I needed to sit back down. So close.”

“You’ll get it next time.” Jack said.

“I hope so, I’m not getting out of here until I can make it both ways and then up and down stairs on the crutches. Pain in the ass is what it is. I have a perfectly good bed in my apartment, I could be laying on my couch instead of here. At least there I could watch the news or soccer. Anything really, but the opposite wall. Though the drugs are better here.”

“You’re probably right. You know you’re really not selling me on the notion of being stuck here.”

“Guess not, sorry. The food’s not that bad at least.”

“Yeah, if you like cottage cheese.”

Gerard laughed. “That’s true, no one likes cottage cheese. I firmly believe that cheese shouldn’t jiggle,” he said. “The bed baths are a bit of a pain, but the nurses try to be gentle about it.”

“I’m sorry, what? Did you say bed bath?”

“Well yeah, you didn’t think they’d let you hop into a shower and stand on one leg with the other in a plastic bag did you? I mean to offence to you, but you’re starting to smell like you might need one soon.”

Gerard had a point aside from not being able to shower. He hadn’t had a proper shower or shave since Sunday night after a stint at the gym. The gym, he’d just got back into the habit after he’d quit smoking. And he was enjoying it, now he couldn’t even get up to piss or wash his own face. A bed bath, Christ. That was one more indignity that Jack hadn’t considered and was distinctly not looking forward to.

“Hey, you know, I had a chance to sit in one of the waiting areas while I caught my breath.” Gerard continued, breaking Jack’s dread of bed baths. “There was a news bit about some human trafficking thing on the tv. They’re looking for this woman who left a bit of an evidence bomb behind. Is that the whole business you got caught up in?”

Jack hadn’t said much about what had happened, his mother hand mentioned it in passing before he gave her a look to ask her not to. He didn’t want to talk or even think about it and he didn’t want the details spread around to just anyone. But now he had more information about the case than he had before even if he wasn’t allowed to work on it. He hadn’t seen or heard a woman at any point during the abduction or the beating. Charlie had said nothing, but that was yesterday. New information sometimes comes at a trickle and then all at once for some cases.

“Uhm, probably. I don’t know anything about a woman though. What’d they say on the news?”

“Oh, I didn’t catch all of it, just that they’re looking for her for questioning. Looks like she left a good bit of evidence for your people to find, but she’s just gone. Said her name was Jaqueline Sloan.”

Jack shrugged. “Never heard of her.”

He’d ask about her when he next saw the Boss or Charlie. He didn’t expect to see either of them today, but he would eventually. He’d have to give a statement sooner or later. Thinking about it made his stomach turn just a little further. None of this would have even phased him if it had happened to anyone else. He’d always been keen to use his training, to shut that part of his brain off. Tuck it away and feel sorry later over a pint when it was all said and done. It was much harder to apply to himself.

“Did you catch what kind of evidence it was?”

“No idea, physio interrupted,” he said and grunted trying to reposition himself. “Didn’t want me to sit for too long in case I cramped up I guess. Big hurry to get me to sit here instead.”

They’d hardly need any evidence for his particular case, just about everyone involved had been caught red handed. That night was a bit hazy in some areas, but he remembered who was in the room when the tac team barrelled through the door. Must be evidence related to the trafficking ring, a paper trail perhaps.

There was no chance he’d find out any other way than his colleagues. There was no television on the ward, no way they’d be able to get this many grumpy old farts to agree on any channel and not to argue about it. He didn’t want to press his mother for details. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he was bored. He wanted to know who this woman was. If he could keep treating this like a case, even if he was just trying to solve it in his own head, it would keep the boredom at bay.

His thoughts and scheming were interrupted by a squeaky cart wheel and a nurse. The cart was piled with towels and linens and fresh gowns. Water basins. The nurse pushing it, Sandra, stopped between himself and Gerard and put a hand on her hip. She smiled at both of them.

“Who would like to go first?” She asked.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fans of Jack's mum are going to hate me for this. Don't worry she'll be fine. Probably.

Darren Foster had drawn a number of short straws in his life so far. Each time he seemed to have drawn the long straw for once he found a way to shorten it on his own. He’d spent his share of time in police stations, juvenile detention. Proper jail time. None of it seemed to stick. Life lessons left unlearned. In short, Darren Foster was a fuck up.

Whispers spread quickly through the sort of rumour mills that Darren paid keen attention to. The offer had been extended to one of his associates. A woman with the means, but no desire to add murder to her rap sheet. But Darren was an opportunist. He had knowledge of the auction and he knew DS Weston. What he didn’t have was the cash to meet the minimum buy in. Though judging by the media frenzy that followed he was probably lucky in that regard. No one who had the money to get their hands on Jack Weston got out without a pair of cuffs. They were all sporting grey tracksuits now.

But not Darren Foster. Everything had gone sideways in that ordeal, but now was his opportunity to cash in. For better or worse, his timing had always been impeccable. The detective had survived, just barely and just so happened to scoot past him in A&E that night. Some tosser in the pub who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, got into it with him. Glassed him. Darren had come in for a few stitches, and left with an awfully good idea.

The moment that over dramatic Irish woman bustled through the ER asking after her son, Darren knew how he could get back at DS Weston for the arrests and the harassement. He didn’t need money. He just needed her.

 

Gerard had volunteered Jack to go first. Had he really smelled that bad, Jack wondered. As irritating and embarrassingly thorough as the bath had been, Jack did feel quite a lot better afterwards. He’d been wearing a hard layer of sweat and fear and caked blood. A harsh yellow layer of antiseptic on his leg and all the grime had now been washed away. He had clean bandages after the bath, and a promise that tomorrow he could have a shave. He hadn’t really wanted someone to get into every little nook and cranny and shifting about to grant access had been exhausting, but now he was thankful that someone had, even if it came at the price of a bit of his dignity.

He didn’t have much of that left to spare. He still needed help to piss into a jug and his mom hadn’t returned so he wasn’t able to beg or weasel his way out of not finishing dinner. He didn’t care for what was on the menu, even if he was finally hungry enough to eat. His suggestion that someone just tape a fork to the cast on his hand was met with a giggle. He’d been serious, but the nurse clearly saw the impracticality of it. And left to his own devices, Jack wouldn’t willingly eat much of this. What he _really_ wanted was his gran’s fry bread. No way in hell he’d see that slide across the table on a plastic tray. No, it was healthy wholesome food at every meal. He had nothing against a well-balanced meal, but at the moment he only wanted comfort food.

He couldn’t even have tea. As if he hadn’t already been punished enough.

The quiet of the evening gave that flippant notion a little more weight. That had been the whole point of his abduction. Other than to make Vaughn a tidy profit. Criminals he’d put away wanted to see him suffer, punished. And when it came to Freddy Crawford, he truly had been. Jack hadn’t known about the death of Freddy’s son. That news hadn’t travelled up the grapevine, no one had told him. And even though he’d taken a proper beating for it, he still felt guilty. Perhaps he earned every scratch, cut, bruise and crack. Deserved it maybe.

Jack had been there, been taken, because he was good at his job. He’d pissed off a number of criminals by putting them behind bars where they belong. That they weren’t reformed after getting out was hardly Jack’s fault. He hadn’t put Freddy Crawford or his son in jail, though he had sincerely tried. Nothing ever stuck to Freddy Crawford. Except for this, perhaps. He had been caught out in the act after all. Well, as far as Jack could remember anyway. What happened after his tooth got yanked is fuzzy, but he remembered hearing Freddy’s voice amid the shouting that followed.

He had a hazy memory of a body on the ground before Charlie came into focus. He couldn’t remember seeing a face. Was it facing the opposite wall? Every time he tried to recall, the detail just seemed to slide out of view in his mind’s eye. It was probably a blessing, though Jack had seen his fair share of dead bodies. One more wouldn’t traumatize him any further. But in this case, his brain was not having any of it.

He would ask next time Charlie or Martha came by. No one had talked to him about that day. Not the hospital staff, not his mother. No one, through no fault of their own, Jack hadn’t wanted his mother to speak of it and Gerard had only mentioned it because the case was on the news. It had been a couple of days, far as he could tell. If the case was still being discussed it must have been bigger than Jack had thought. That they were still searching for suspects in the case only raised more questions for him. Who was this Jacqueline Sloan? Did she tip off his colleagues? Or was it just a paper trail? It occurred to Jack, that he had no idea how they’d even found him.

Jack had slept on and off all day, and now his brain was starting to fire on all cylinders. Just as the lights were dimming for the night. Of course. Gerard and several of the other elderly patients were already lightly snoring. Visiting hours were over so even if his mom had come back, she’d be very politely shown the door. All he had to occupy himself was series of questions and the inside of a bed curtain to look at. It wasn’t quite closed around him, but he couldn’t see out the window anymore.

“Would you like the curtain opened or closed?” Marcus asked.

“Open. I like to look out the window, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, you need to be sleeping not staring out the window,” he said and moved to the head of the bed to dim the over head light. “But I’ll leave it as is for the night. How are you feeling?”

“Bored,” he said.

“Any pain?”

Jack shook his head, there was no more pain than what he’d got used to. His leg and his fingers ached, but the drugs helped him not to care too much about it. Marcus watched the monitors for a moment and wrote on the chart.

“So far so good mate,” he said, he moved to the end of the bed and lightly pinched Jack’s toes and looked satisfied at the result. “Do you need to relieve yourself?”

Jack hesitated. He did.

“If you say no again, that’s a concern for us. There’s a fair amount of fluid going in to you that isn’t coming out. Do you just not want to?”

“Not particularly, no. I guess I can’t just hold it until I can hobble to the toilet myself can I?”

“Sorry, mate. I know you don’t like peeing into a jug, no one does,” he said and put on a pair of gloves. “It’s temporary, just keep that in mind. Soon enough that leg, and your hands, will be good as new and you can _run_ to the loo if you like.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

 

In the morning Darren made his way back to Guys Hospital and sat himself in the waiting area outside of main reception. And sure as eggs is eggs, that woman came bustling back in ready to keep a vigil soon as visiting hours started. He listened for which floor she’d be headed to and then pretended to receive a call and left. In the afternoon, he simply made his way up to the orthopaedic wing and waited for her to leave. And when she finally emerged, heading for the bank of elevators, he made his move.

She looked upset, frustrated. He’d bet money that she’d been kicked out and not by the staff. She fumbled with the buttons on her coat and muttered under her breath, it was just the two of them in the elevator. It sounded as though she was holding back a sob.

“Have you lost someone?” Darren asked.

“No, he’s just pigheaded, but so am I. He’ll come around.” She said and looked up. She frowned sympathetically at the stitches over his left eye. “What happened to you, luv?”

“Car accident, I was lucky. My friend wasn’t. She wasn’t feeling up to a having a visitor today either so we’re both unwanted it seems.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” she said. “My boy and your … friend, they’ve been through a fair bit. I suppose we should give them the space they need. Though I don’t like it.”

“I suspect you’re right. I don’t like it either.” He said he watched the number on the display count down towards the lobby. He extended his hand. “I’m Joseph.”

“Flora,” she said and shook his hand.

 

Play.

The echo of a scream bounces off the walls, the sound quality is poor, but the pain is clear. A tall man moves away from the centre of the room, leaving another in an ill-fitting suit and a man tied to a chair in the centre of the room. His head droops forward, bounces and then remains still. The man in the ill-fitting suit holds up a small bloody specimen, almost invisible. He holds it up to the bright lights to examine it, admire it perhaps. He says something that the recoding cannot pick up.

A man with a cricket bat enters the spot lights, starts to shout. Accusations of being a nonce, a pedophile, disgusting.Breaking the man in the suit from his reverie, he turns to the man with the bat, still holding his tiny trophy between a shiny pair of pliers. They catch the light just so.

“You know, I’ve never heard of you. And I don’t like that fucker in the chair, but I know your _kind._ That you didn’t get killed in prison is a shame.”

“I think I read about him in the papers,” says a third man on the far right. Hands deep in his pockets. “I think the copper’s right.”

“I know what your lot are like,” says the man with the bat. He pushes the suit’s shoulder back with the tip of the bat.“You don’t change. No matter how long you spend locked up.

“I’ve done my time gentleman, what I’ve done in the past is irrelevant.” The man in the suit replies. “Can we move on to the next round, Alex? I’m keen to add to my collection.”

“You got the money to make it enough rounds to collect the whole set then, Pedo?” Says the man with the bat.

“Not if he ain’t around to bid he don’t,” says the man on the right. His stance shifted just so, a bulge in his coat pocket taking a discernible shape. “You’d be doing the world a favour.”

“Gentlemen, let’s be reasonable!” Shouted a stout man in the corner, lurking in the shadows.

The man with the cricket bat wound up to swing high. His scream was nearly primal and he did not miss. The small trophy and pliers went flying from the suit’s grasp as he spun and hit the floor. The image of the result of the impact was clearer than the sound which followed. The small recording speaker overwhelmed by the sound of shouting and wood hitting bone, flesh and concrete.

The man on the far right has removed the pistol from his pocket and aimed. Seeming to want to take his own advice, eliminate the competition before it eliminates him. After witnessing the brutality with which the first bidder was dispatched it’s a wonder his hand doesn’t shake. Neither of them has the chance to become the highest bidder by default.

The door bursts inward.

 

Jack woke with a start. His heart pounding and the sound of one thump after another following him into consciousness as if it were happening in real time around him, but the room was quiet. There had been darkness and shouting and the sound of a bat hitting something over and over. And now there was just this. A man on the other side of the room was snoring loudly. The sun was just coming up, the slightest hints of morning slipped through the window and onto the bed curtain.

He was still here.

It was far from where he wanted to be which was home, but it was better than where he’d come from. The sound seemed to keep repeating in his mind like a song you just can’t get out of your head. Intruding on the silence, just when you think it’s stopped it would start over again. A hollow thump, then crunching and then wet. And back again. Jack tried to just breathe through it. Concentrate on something else, but the curtain was still blocking the window. Each breath seemed to shake itself loose. He almost didn’t hear the soft footsteps of sneakers on linoleum and looked up just as Helen was approaching.

“Morning, you’re up early.” She said and looked at the monitors for a moment. She put her fingers against his neck for a pulse. He could feel it pounding against her touch. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Why do you always ask that?” Jack replied.

“For several good reasons.” She said and waited, she removed her hand.

“Jack Weston. February 21, 1984.” He said. She smiled.

“Thank you. How are you feeling, Jack?”

“Fine, I guess. I uh, had a bad dream, is all.” He said, he still hadn’t caught his breath, but it was coming easier. The sounds were quieter now but clear. “Can’t seem to get it out of my head. Can you move the curtain back so I can look out the window?”

“Slow and steady breaths, please.” She said and pushed the curtain back a little. “In through the nose out through the mouth. That’s better. Do you want to talk about it?”

Jack shook his head, kept breathing. This was working, talking about it would only bring it back. There was nothing to say, it was just darkness and noise. Screaming and thumping.

“Breathe.”

 

Martha didn’t even open her folio after she sat down across from Freddy Crawford. She wasn’t planning to stay long and he didn’t appear to be in a mood for scintillating conversation. Surly as he was from the start.

“Mr. Crawford. In addition to the charges of grievous bodily harm and conspiracy to commit murder, CPS has granted me the authority to charge you with the murder of Paul Stevens.” She said and paused. His expression hardly changed. He looked down at the table for a moment before locking eyes with hers. “I hardly think that should come as a surprise.”

Again he paused. “Your copper was the one that outed him, told us what that fucker was.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant as a defence. Now I am curious though. Was it because your odds of winning were better with less player in the room? Or was it something else, something more personal, that drove you to pummel that man’s head into the concrete, I wonder?”

Freddy Crawford fumed silently as she gathered her folio and left the room.

In the corridor Martha checked the notification on her phone, it had buzzed lightly in her pocket while she was delivering the murder charge. There was a message from the hospital. Likely a response to her inquiry about Jack’s status for interview. She’d meant to pop by last night, purely as a friendly visit assuming that Flora would still have been there. See how both of them were holding up. But she couldn’t make herself blow off pizza night with her own child one more time. Flora hadn’t answered her phone last night, poor woman was probably exhausted. She would visit in the afternoon.

 

Darren almost lost sight of Flora on the Tube, and rush hour had only just started. She wouldn’t notice him in the rush of people, all of them crammed into subway cars like sardines in a can. The woman was wee so the crowds getting off at Chalk Farm station nearly engulfed her. Good for him to remain out of her line of sight, but hard to keep track of her until they both reached the street. She seemed mostly lost in her own thoughts, tracking her back to her home had been dead simple. Getting into her flat had been even easier. It was a wonder he wasn’t a better criminal, maybe his luck was finally turning.

 

Shortly after catching his breath, Jack gave up the last scrap of dignity he had left and had to allow a nurse to help him go to the toilet. A few mostly solid meals results in mostly solid waste. A jug was hardly sufficient for the task. It had meant sitting up and moving parts of him that hadn’t moved in a while which was a decent trade off, but still not something that Jack was looking forward to repeating.

He quietly sulked about it through breakfast and the shave he was promised the night before. He politely ignored conversation with Gerard, saying he was tired until the physiotherapist came by to work with Gerard and then, to Jack’s surprise, to visit him. Jack wasn’t quite ready to try walking yet, but as it happened not all of his fingers were broken. A few were simply dislocated and it was time to start gently working those joints to avoid seizure. The visit ended with less cumbersome bandages and the use of both thumbs, but he would still need help with lunch. He just about had the grip strength of a corpse, but it was progress and Jack would take what he could get.

He had just started to doze again when a soft voice cleared itself at the foot of the bed. “Mr. Weston?” The face looked familiar but Jack couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Nguyen. Do you remember me?” He asked. Jack thought a moment longer. “I’m your oral surgeon. I placed the implant in your jaw.”

“Yeah, I think I remember, it’s a bit fuzzy.”

“Perfectly understandable. You’d been through quite a trauma when we first met. How are you feeling?”

“Well enough, considering.”

“Glad to hear. I have some good news for you. The crown I had made for you is ready.” He said and took a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall behind him. The squeak of the gloves stretching over hands made Jack uneasy. “Do you mind if I have a look to see how you’re healing? If it looks good we can have the crown placed this afternoon. How does that sound?”

Jack found himself staring at Dr. Nguyen’s gloved hands. They both remembered Jack’s reaction to him when he first arrived. “I don’t have any tools with me, save for a pen light. I would just like to have a look.”

Jack nodded. He was growing tired of having a tiny metal stump in his mouth and a semi liquid diet. A properly shaped tooth, even if it wasn’t his, would be a welcome change. Dr. Nguyen clicked the pen light on.

“Open.” He said. And Jack’s mouth promptly shut.

Unease turned to a quiet panic. A good portion of what happened to him in that warehouse had been obscured from memory, as a defence mechanism. Except for one fucking word and Paul Stevens. Having his mouth forced open and the feel of latex clad fingers poking around in his mouth.

“Breathe, Jack.” Dr. Nguyen said. Jack let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “In through the nose out through the mouth. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jack took a few more breaths and nodded. Jack wanted this new tooth, but damn it if is mind wouldn’t stop fucking panicking about it. He sighed and tried to breathe and slowly the panic subsided.

“That’s better,” the doctor said. “Do you have any pain around the implant?”

Jack shook his head.

“That’s good, may I see?”

Jack finally let the poor man take a look and did his best to swallow any after shocks when the good doctor hooked a finger in his cheek to get a better look.

“It looks good, Jack. If you feel ready, we can place the crown this afternoon. I can prescribe a sedative for you to take the stress out of the procedure for you, help you relax. How does that sound?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’m sorry about that, I didn’t think I’d…”

“It’s okay, Jack. You’ve been through a lot. Many people already don’t like those in my profession, and what happened to you certainly hasn’t raised my ilk’s esteem in your view. You have nothing to apologize for. We shall be as gentle as possible. You have my word.”

 

Gerard is having a snooze and the elderly man across the aisle is having a quiet disagreement behind the bed curtain with his nurse about bandages and tubes and where they shouldn’t go. More than Jack really needed to know, and Jack already knew more than he needed to from experience. Jack needs a distraction, and the distant sound of someone inquiring about his whereabouts comes as a relief. And he knows the voice: The Boss, Martha. He wonders if she’s here for business or a friendly visit.

She came round the corner with her overcoat folded over one arm. She didn’t appear to have her folio so perhaps this was strictly a friendly visit. Just as well.

“Boss.” She smiled. She was hardly his boss right now.

“Jack, you’re certainly looking much better than when I last saw you.” She looked down at his leg. The swelling was down, the bruising wasn’t. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better, but the drugs are good.”

“That’s a decent trade off, I suppose. Daisy sends her love.”

“Yeah? Very kind of her, thanks.”

Martha looked about before draping her coat over the chair. “I’m surprised your mum isn’t here. I rang her last night, just got her voice mail.”

“She was here yesterday. All day. I sent her home or just out to get some air. She doesn’t need to spend every free moment of her time at my side. Surely she has other things to be doing besides sitting here worrying and fussing over me.”

“Probably, but she’s your mum and worry is something she excels at. I’m sure it’s all out of love.”

“Love, right. And little harmless flirting with the guy next to me.”

Martha raised an eyebrow, she failed at hiding a smirk. Gerard snored lightly on the other side of the curtain.

“It’s odd she’s not here, but it’s fine I’m sure.” He said. That his mom hadn’t shown up again at the start of visiting hours was a bit strange. She has a life and hobbies and volunteering, but it was odd that she didn’t mention it when she left yesterday. Even if she was guilt pouting about being sent away.

“I’ll pop round her flat later today, get the gossip on your neighbour here and see how she is. Might just be a little overwhelmed.”

“Or sore at me for being told to go for a walk.”

“Possibly. Listen, Jack, I’m not just here for a friendly visit,” she said. “I’ve been given the all clear by your doctors that you’re fit for interview. And I’m certain you have many questions about the case, but first I want to know your thoughts on providing your statement. If you’re ready or prepared to provide one.”

“What, now?”

“No, not unless you really want to.”

“No, not just now. I’ve got enough trauma to relive today, if it’s all the same to you.”

Martha looked puzzled and apologetic. “Jack, I’m sorry if I’ve brought up anything you’d rather not think about.”

“No, no. It’s fine you didn’t.” He said. “I’ve got a date with a dentist later.”

“Ah,” she seemed to understand. Jack wondered how much she knew about the extent of his injuries. He knew that she would know enough based on the medical examiner’s report, but did she know about how they came about? He needed to pump her for information, but she wouldn’t utter a word until he’d provided a statement. He wasn’t privy to the details, hewasn’t investigating this case anymore. He _was_ the case, part of it anyway.

“Think about it, there’s no rush. Let us know and we’ll make the arrangements for an interview room when you feel up to it and not a moment sooner.” She said. “In the meantime, I’ll be sure to tell your mum that you miss her.”

Jack laughed. “Right. She might never leave again. Thanks Boss.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This update's got everything! Backstory, and angst and a bit of humour. Progress! I make no promises about there being another update *this year* but if I do it will be a miracle that should be rejoiced. Enjoy this and see you next year! ... probably.

Jack hadn’t had much of an appetite for lunch, knowing what was coming. He took a small amount of comfort in the fact that it might be the last time he would have to endure a whole tray of soft food and the ritual mouth rinse at the end. Dessert was a pair of little white pills in a paper cup. He swallowed them without hesitation. With any luck, he wouldn’t remember anything that was about to happen.

Sure enough, not long after that when they came to fetch him, he was half asleep and limp as an over-cooked noodle. Fear seemed hard to come by and Jack would have patted himself on the back for his sudden, chemically-induced bravery if he could lift his arms or use his hands. Faces smiled down at him as he seemed to float down the corridors and then to a room with a really bright light. He wasn’t sure if he was smiling back, but no one seemed to mind if he wasn’t.

And then there was nothing for a while.

 

Martha had rung Flora once more after leaving the hospital and once again reached only a polite voice mail. She left a second message, that Jack looked well and a head’s up that she would stop by later. She didn’t expect a call back. It was strange that Flora hadn’t called back at all. Martha had known Flora for several years, it seemed entirely unlike her to ignore a friend or a family member in need.

Flora had spent as much time as she could bear visiting her oldest son when he was in hospital and as often as she was allowed. She had doted on Kevin as much as the boy could tolerate, which was not usually a great deal given his condition. Flora loved both of her children fiercely, so to find the chair beside Jack empty was odd.

What was stranger still was that by the time Martha had reached the door to Flora’s flat there was no answer at the door. Martha had listened for any sign that she was coming to unlock and open the door, but she heard nothing. She knocked once more, and announced herself.

“Flora? It’s Martha.”

There was a muffled sound from the other side of the door. Martha tried the handle, turned and pushed and to her surprise the door opened. She knocked again and announced herself as she let herself in. The door partially opened and stuck itself on a bunched up rug by the entrance. A chair was over turned, mail scattered on the floor and in the middle of it all was Flora.

“Oh my god, Flora.”

She was sat on one of the dining chairs her hands were secured behind her and a bit of grey tape across her mouth. A small trickle of blood escaped her hairline and had dried down her temple. Martha quickly made her way to her friend to free her.

“My god Flora, what happened? Are you alright?” She asked, gently removing the tape from her mouth and then her hands.

Flora tried to answer, but started to cry instead. “He seemed like a nice boy, then he just barged in and I couldn’t — I couldn’t shut the door. It was just like when Kevin… And…and… Martha, I was so frightened.”

“It’s alright Flora, you’re safe now,” she said and let Flora slump forward to her shoulder where she trembled and allowed herself to be held. Martha hadn’t been present when Flora’s eldest had suffered his last major psychotic break. She hadn’t been part of the initial call to her residence then, she hadn’t been involved other than as a friend and support at the time, after the fact.

Kevin had left her in a bad way all those years ago, bleeding on her bedroom floor, concussed and with fractured ribs. Just now she seemed to be, at first glance, much better off this time. Physically anyway. Martha took a moment or two longer to comfort her friend.

“Flora, I need to call this in, alright?” She said. Flora sat up a little and nodded. “How about we sit you down there on the sofa, are you able to stand?”

Flora nodded slowly and sniffled, she allowed herself to be lead to the sofa where she seemed to sink into it. She reached absently for the blanket across the back and pulled it into her lap. She stared at the coffee table without really seeing it.

 

The weight of sleep lifted, but left a mental residue behind. The voices around him were familiar, he cracked one eye open. He was still in his bed. Gerard was chatting away with a nurse near by. Jack had drifted off to sleep after lunch and now he was still here in his bed. Had they decided not to give him his new tooth after all? He tried to feel for the peg that he’d got used to, but his tongue wouldn’t move just right, so maybe they had. He reached up tentatively with his left hand, because it had the fewest broken fingers on it, and poked around his cheek with his thumb. He felt nothing on the right side of his face. He remembered nothing.

He cleared his throat, it was dry. And while he couldn’t feel half of his mouth there was a foul taste in it. The nurse who was chatting with Gerard poked her head around the curtain, she smiled.

“Hi there.” She said. “Welcome back.”

Jack couldn’t reply, and he wasn’t sure if he was smiling properly or at all. He had a lopsided grin at best and right now it was anyone’s guess what his face was doing with only half of it working properly, but the nurse looked sympathetic towards him anyway.

“The local anesthetic will wear off soon,” she said and came around to pour a bit of water into a cup for him. “Are you thirsty?” He nodded. Some of the water made it into his mouth the rest dribbled down his chin and was caught with a tissue.

His ‘thank you’ came out pathetically and they both snickered at it.

He looked to the empty chair, and asked, “My mum come by yet?” It sounded much clearer in his head.

“No hun, I’m sorry she hasn’t come by today,” she said. “We can give her a call if you like.”

Jack shook his head. Martha was going to check in on her, she’d be around soon enough. He’d enjoy the silence for now.

 

The silence was appreciated since he expected his mother to break that silence at just about any moment. But it was especially appreciated after the physiotherapist arrived and took Gerard for a hobble up and down the corridor. Soon enough it would be him struggling to walk up and down the corridor and the stairs. He couldn’t leave until he could prove he could do it. The surgeon and the physiotherapist had been firm about that. The lumps of bandages and swelling were still evident (but less so) under the blanket, but walking was a feat that seemed impossibly far away. Returning to work or chasing down suspects even further. And suddenly the silence wasn’t as welcome.

The old man across from him had fallen asleep and snored, but it was a consistent noise he could tune out. Feeling on the right side of his face came back slowly, a tingling at first and then light ache. The tooth felt … odd. It wasn’t the same shape as the original. He had no idea what the original one was shaped like, he only knew it wasn’t shaped like this one. The more he poked at it with his tongue the more it ached. He did his best to leave it alone, but it was like an intruder in his mouth.

The soft sound of rubber smacking a palm interrupted Jack’s internal investigation as it were. Charlotte, the physiotherapist he shared with Gerard had returned from making the poor man take a walk. She had a blue rubber ball in her hand that she was casually tossing and catching.

“Mr. Weston, how are you feeling today?” She couldn’t have been much older than he was, it felt odd to have her call him ‘Mr. Weston’. Hell, he would have preferred DS Weston if he had his way, but it was going to be a while yet before anyone called him that.

“You can call me Jack. ‘Mr. Weston’ sounds like someone else.”

“Duly noted, _Jack_. How do you feel today. Any pain?”

“I’ve been worse, but I got a new tooth today so I guess that’s something.”

“Ah, I see. That _is_ something. How does it feel, take it for a test drive yet?”

Jack laughed. “No, not yet. Only got the feeling back just now.”

“Fair enough,” she said and smiled. “Are you ready to get moving?”

“What? I thought I wasn’t allowed just yet.”

“You’re right, not yet.” She said and closed the curtain around the bed all the way. “We’ve had to order some specialized crutches for you and they’re not here yet, but in the meantime we should get you used to the idea. We’ll start with the hands and work our way down, shall we?”

 

Martha barely even acknowledged Charlie on her way to her office. Charlie had an update about Jacqueline Sloan, but Martha’s habit of asking for updates or after her team was absent. Jacqueline hadn’t been detained, but she had been tracked to Bermuda, travelling under a forged passport. Charlie had doubts that this was where the woman decided to settle. She seemed clever enough, she wouldn’t have stayed long. It was only a matter of time before Ms. Sloan was located. It was good news and Martha brushed by without even a glance and shut the door to her office once inside. Jack wasn’t around to be nosey on her behalf, she would have to find out for herself.

She knocked and waited to be allowed in. Martha’s reply sounded distracted even through the heavy blue door.

“Everything alright, Boss?”

Martha sighed. “Swing the door, won’t you. Have a seat.”

“Of course,” she said and shut the door. Charlie knew the Boss had been around to visit Jack, but she’d been gone a lot longer than expected, an afternoon visit had extended well into the evening. Had something gone wrong, she wondered. “How’s the Sarge doing?”

“Recovering, he’s got a long road ahead, but I think he’ll be alright. His doctors seem optimistic so that’s good news for him.”

“But…” Charlie prompted.

“Have you had the pleasure of meeting Jack’s mother, Flora?”

“Briefly, she was right there at Jack’s side when I last visited. Charming woman.”

“Well she wasn’t about when I spoke to Jack this afternoon, hadn’t been there all day and hadn’t been answering her phone either so I promised Jack I’d check in on her. Turns out I was not the only person who’d paid Flora a visit. Poor woman was assaulted in her own flat. Left her bound to a chair since yesterday evening.”

“Jesus, is she alright?” Charlie asked. Flora seemed like a kind soul from her brief meeting with her, how anyone could be driven to harm her was absurd unless they were very motivated.

“She will be. I mean, she was clearly shaken by the whole thing. She’ll have to stay the night at St. Pancras Hospital just to be sure.”

“Any leads on who might have done this?”

“None as yet,” Martha said. “Flora wasn’t in a state to chat about it when I found her. Central North are handling the investigation, but I do have the rather difficult task of telling Jack what’s happened to his mum. As if he hasn’t been through enough.”

“No doubt, I’m happy to tag along if needed.”

“No need, Charlie. No need. This is likely to bring up memories that you officially don’t know about. Best I deliver the news alone. But don’t let that stop you from visiting him yourself if you like. What’s been happening round here? Any updates?”

“Yes, actually. Word through the grapevine is Intelligence has been able to trace Jacqueline Sloan as far as Bermuda, she’s been travelling under false names, but they’re getting closer. And not much else really, it’s been a thankfully quiet day so far, ample time for the less glamorous side of the job: paperwork.”

“After the week we’ve all had I’d say it’s well earned.” Martha said. “Head home Charlie, I’ll be doing the same after one last stop.”

“Thanks Boss. I’ve one more file to close and I’ll be right behind you. Give my regards to Jack, I can’t say I envy either of you.”

 

Eleven years prior

 

Jack’s dad had had the right idea. In theory. Sean Weston had fucked off back to Ireland last year. Found himself a spot in the Garda in Wicklow, far away from his wife and kids. Far from the madhouse home had become. They’d all left Ireland in the hopes that there would be something better for Kevin, better services. It was all supposed to be better. And instead, after three years in London, it had all gone to shit.

Jack’s dad left and his mum coped. She was angry, but wouldn’t show it. The less she let on the more Jack, and to some extent Kevin, knew how much pent up Irish fury was buried under her demeanour, her doting and her determination. To hell with Sean, she’d said one morning. They would be a family on their own. Flora and her two boys.

One who would never hold down a steady job and the other who had no idea what to do with himself other than follow in his dad’s footsteps. Maybe. Someday. All he was sure of a week ago was that he didn’t want to spend another minute in the mad house. Kevin was home again, on a promise of good behaviour and to take his medications. And Jack knew it was utter horse shit. It usually was, and for the moment Kev was sticking to his room, he was quiet. He wasn’t being weird, or at least weird by Kev’s standards, but Jack had had enough.

He wasn’t about to piss off back to Ireland, though he had considered it, but he needed to get out. Just for a little while. A day or maybe two. He’d check in maybe, just to be sure. But after the first late night with his mates, the session having gone on until sun up, he didn’t have a care in the world. Slept the day away on a couch in some flat in Brixton. And when he woke there was mostly just a haze about him. It took a lot longer than Jack would have thought to realize that the flat wasn’t on fire, but hot boxed.

He had a hard time getting up.

Or worrying about what might have been going on at home.

Kevin was on his meds again, it was fine.

The party moved north later that night, Jack staggered and stumbled along with it all the way to the heart of London. He didn’t have the funds for Southwark and he wasn’t going to be able to mooch much longer. He was skint and politely excused himself, mumbling something about needing to return to the nut hatchery. His Oyster card had nothing left, and he had nothing else with him. Hadn’t thought that far ahead so he did up his coat and started a long sobering walk back to fucking Hackney.

At least it wasn’t raining.

But the absolute unit under the rail bridge on Brick Lane who insisted that Jack give over his valuables was disappointed to find that Jack had none. So Jack continued on his way home after paying the toll with a black eye.

Several blocks later he came upon his street and found it swirling and flickering with blue lights. It wasn’t the best part of London that they lived in, but this wasn’t a shocking sight. And that those blues were just outside his home, sobered him up the rest of the way pretty quickly. He left his mom alone with a lunatic. He’d walked a long way to get here and his head was pounding, but he ran the rest of the way, didn’t hesitate to blow past the officers present, until one of the uniforms at the door finally stopped him.

“I live here, what’s happened?” He said and tried to push through. Jack could see there were people in white jumpsuits milling about inside just over the officer’s shoulder.

“Hold on there,” she said and blocked the door. “Can you tell me your name?”

“It’s Jack. My name’s Jack Weston can I please go inside now? My mom is she alright?”

The officer softened a bit, but would not allow him inside. “Jack, I’m sorry but you can’t go in just yet. I’m going to have you speak to one of my colleagues, alright? She’ll explain what’s happened.”

 

It wasn’t like on television, nothing was beeping, there were no bright lights or people rushing around, no dramatic lighting. His mother had a small room all to herself the curtain partly closed to block out the light from the corridor. The nurses told Jack that she was sleeping and needed rest (and so did he judging by the look of him), but he could sit with her if he liked. They offered a blanket and a cold pack for the prominent shiner he was now sporting. He shook his head and just sat in the bedside chair and watched. Waited for her to wake up. He knew that she wouldn’t, not for a little while yet according to the doctor, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t go home, so he stayed there by her side.

Regardless of the fact that home was now a crime scene, the last time jack had left his mother alone his brother had nearly killed her. He wasn’t about to leave her now. If he’d just stayed, he could have prevented this. If he’d just stayed maybe Kevin would have nearly killed them both or maybe succeeded in doing so. Maybe Jack could have been the hero, locked his brother in a room for his own safety.

But instead he’d been selfish. He’d gone off on a bender and now his mom was in hospital with broken ribs and a serious concussion. He ran away and now his brother was gone, topped himself in the back garden. Jack would never know if Kevin had the sense to feel guilty about what he’d done before killing himself or if it was the voices that told him to do it, and Jack wasn’t sure he would ever want to know for sure.

His dad had left, Jack had taken off and now his brother was gone. The woman in the bed in front of him was all he had left.

And it was _his_ fault. Oh god, it was his fault.

He hadn’t noticed the nurse come in, he failed to stifle his crying when she put a blanket across his shoulders and offered a box of tissues and a gentle squeeze.

“She’ll pull through, she’s strong, but she needs a rest. Let’s have a look at that eye,” she said. “We’ll have a little chat, how does that sound?”

Jack didn’t move, but pulled the blanket around him tighter.

“She’s stable, Jack. She’s not going anywhere. Come on, it’s okay. And you can come back here after if you like.”

He let himself be guided out of the room, but didn’t take his eyes off her until he rounded the corner.

 

Charlotte had certainly given him a run for his money. She’d unravelled the bindings around his fingers and let him try to use them. The ones that weren’t broken were stiff enough that they might as well have been, but that was apparently no excuse to not try. By the end of the session using his hands to hold a spoon was still out of the question (or laughable if he had a large bib), but he could hold onto a rubber ball and not drop it. And if he used both hands he could hold a cup. He needed to be able to grip the handle of his crutches, it was progress.

The more the swelling went down in his leg, the more often bandages were changed and adjusted. Jack tried not to look at the large wound across his knee. Or the deep bruises. And the staples were rather off putting. He did a damn good job of not thinking about it while it was all tucked under a blanket, but it was much harder to ignore while it was all out in the open. Charlotte hadn’t messed about either when it came to moving his legs. A good stretch felt good when nothing was pulling on the sutures and staples, but he was glad when she finally relented.

Jack was expecting his mom to show up any minute, probably, and she’d hardly want to see him laying there with his leg being held up in the air and crotch half on display. He was almost sure that the moment Martha stopped by, his mom would have been out the door on her way back. The woman made worrying look like a professional sport.

It had been a busy afternoon and surprisingly exhausting considering he hadn’t got off his ass once by himself. Between the tooth implant and the physio and the X-rays and bandages, he was worried he might miss his mom coming in, but it was probably best she hadn’t shown up yet. Dinner came, with slightly less soft food, but cottage cheese seemed to be a staple that someone insisted upon. And still no visitors.

He at least had Gerard to commiserate with and complain about the food. Jack had tried to trade his cottage cheese for Gerard’s slice of toast. And it would have worked if either of them could get up on their own to make the exchange, Gerard had his crutches at hand, but it was work to get out of bed. Marcus put the kibosh on the arrangement and reminded both of them that they had the meals they did for good reason.

“Spoil sport,” Jack said.

“I know, mate. I’m an ogre.” Marcus replied. He wasn’t an ugly man by any means but he was built like one. A gentle giant. He held out the spoon with the creamy jiggling cheese on it for Jack to eat. “You need the calcium, but I’ll see if I can put in the good word for a bit of toast for breakfast… if you finish this tonight. How’s that?”

“I really wish my fingers weren’t fucked,” he said and ate the cheese. He tried not to grimace “It’s a deal.”

 

The sky outside the window darkened, the clock on the wall showed that visiting hours were almost over, when he heard a familiar voice at the entry for the ward. It was not his mother’s voice and it promised only a short visit. Jack didn’t dislike his boss, but her’s was not the face he was expecting to see come around the curtain.

“Boss.”

“Jack. You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“Uhm, better I guess. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Martha skirted around the bed-side chair and dropped her hand bag into it. This wasn’t business, butit didn’t seem friendly either.

“Jack I went round your mum’s place this afternoon as promised,” she began, she put her hands on the raised bed rail. She paused, she didn’t smile. Jack knew something was wrong. He knew how to deliver bad news, there were a few different ways, and he knew the boss’s preferred method and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Just tell me.” He said.

“It appeared that someone had forced their way into your mother’s flat. There was an assault. When I arrived I found her on a dining room chair with tape round her wrists and across her mouth.”

“Jesus,” Jack said and didn’t even hesitate to sit up as though he was about to track down the fucker who’d done this right that very minute. And he felt the regret of that movement sharply in his knee, but he didn’t back down. There’d been a short gasp from the other side of the curtain, Gerard was listening in.

“Is she alright? Where is she?” He asked.

“She was clearly shaken by it all Jack but she’s going to be fine. She had a cut on her head so they’re looking after her at St. Pancras Hospital, they want to keep her overnight just for observation.”

Jack was lost for words for a moment. Some fucker had hurt his mom. Again. And he hadn’t been around to help or protect her. Again.

“Have you taken the case?”

“No, central north are handling it, I have faith that they’ll do right by her. The DCI there and I were roommates in college once upon a time. She’s in good hands.”

Jack shifted again under the blanket, absently rubbing a cramp in his thigh with the heel of his hand. He wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was his mom for the moment. Though it did explain a lot. Only duct tape and a head injury could keep that woman away. He smiled to himself at the gallows humour and laid back once more.

“Thank you for telling me, and thank you for checking on her. Who knows how long she would have sat there like that if you hadn’t. Any idea who it might have been? Any suspects?”

“Not my place to say, Jack. You know that. Flora didn’t say much while I was with her, but it would seem that my messages on her answer machine saying I’d be by later might have scared him off. They’ll find him.”

“I know.” He said. They always said that, he’d made that promise before whether he could follow through or not. It was just something one couldn’t help but tack on. Central North would find who did this. And if they didn’t, he would.

 


End file.
